This Calder Range (Calder Saga 1)

“But a woman like you shouldn’t have to work. You should be living in a fine house with a maid to do the work for you,” he declared. “You’re too delicate to be dirtying your hands.”

She arched her neck to laugh from her throat. “I assure you, Mr. Giles, that I am neither delicate nor weak. I can ride as well as most men, and can shoot straighter than some. A woman likes to be challenged, Mr. Giles, not pampered. I would have thought you knew that.”

“Then maybe I should let you carry the bucket.” He smiled.

“It’s a little late,” Lorna mocked him. “We’re almost there.”

They were only a few yards from the chuck wagon and the water barrel secured to the side. Bull carried the bucket over and emptied it into the barrel.

“Thanks for carrying the water, Mr. Giles.” Lorna continued to smile.

He folded his arm across his waist to make a mock bow. “My pleasure, Mrs. Calder.”

There was no need to hold the Longhorns in a loose bunch at night. This range was going to be their new home. Benteen and the drovers pulled back when the herd reached the river to let them drink and scatter as they willed.

The remuda of horses was a different situation. Benteen had Yates throw up a rope corral to hold them. Tomorrow he’d choose the ones he wanted to keep for range work. The rest he would take to Deadwood to sell when they made their trip for winter supplies.

His mind was busy with the many things that had to be done when he rode into camp, but the sound of Lorna’s laughter caught his attention. His jaw hardened when he saw her walking from the river with Bull Giles. The bucket Giles carried explained what the pair had been doing. Benteen wasn’t fooled by the surface innocence. He was a man, so he knew how Bull Giles’s mind worked. Without being told, Benteen knew Giles had seen Lorna go to the river for water and followed her. Cold irritation darkened his eyes because Lorna couldn’t see the way Giles was easing his way into her confidence, inviting her to trust him. She didn’t regard his flattering attention as a threat, but Benteen did.

Dismounting, he watched the pair separate. In grim silence he unsaddled his horse and turned it out with the rest of the string. He walked with the trailhands to the fire for the habitual cup of coffee and avoided any contact with Lorna. If her head could be turned by another man, then he didn’t want her. But he was gritting his teeth when he told himself that.

Around the fire that night, Barnie Moore was the focus of attention. He was questioned about how much it rained and when, did the rivers flood and how bad?

“I’ll tell you one thing.” A cigarette dangled precariously from his lower lip. “When this ground is wet, it’s like gumbo. You walk from here to the river and yore feet get so gobbed up with mud, they’re three or four times their regular size. It dries as hard as a rock, an’ ya need a hammer an’ a chisel to get it off yore boots.”

And they wanted to know about the winter. How cold it was and how much it snowed. When did it start and how long did it last? What sections of the range drifted free of snow? What about the blizzards, and what were the cattle’s chances of weathering them?

“Ya might get yourself some of those Westerns,” Barnie advised Benteen. “They got Shorthorn and Devon blood, but they’re used to this northern weather. An’ they got enough wild in ’em to fight for their young. They ain’t like that blooded stock we seen comin’ into Texas that turn tail and run from a coyote an’ leave their calf to be his dinner.”

There was a brief discussion about the relative merits of different breeds. Benteen listened with interest to all of them. He needed to expand the size of his herd, but he also needed quickly maturing beef to take to market. Barnie’s suggestion of buying stock that had originated in the Northwest instead of relying solely on the Longhorns seemed to make sense.

“Barnie, you’ve had a chance to look over the range good,” Ely spoke up, asserting himself in his quiet way. “Where’s some good land for Mary and me to file on?”

“I can show you a couple areas,” Barnie said. “But I think the best piece is north of here, right on the edge of the foothills. It’s got a good flowin’ river runnin’ through it. If you want, we can ride over that way tomorrow and I’ll show it to you.”

“That’d be fine.” Ely nodded.

“What about the wolves?” Shorty asked. “I heard they was bad.”

“Those yellow-eyed devils are cunning.” Barnie turned his head, shaking it slightly.

Rusty added another dry limb to the fire, sending up sparks to mingle with the starscape overhead. Lorna was listening intently to the conversation among the cowboys, taking more interest since she had started working with the cattle on the drive. Someone had rolled a fallen tree trunk up to the fire, and she was sitting on it, with her skirts tucked around her legs to keep out the night’s chill. She didn’t notice when Bull Giles paused by the fire to refill his coffeecup as so many of the other cowboys had done before him. Nor did she pay any attention when he drifted over to the log where she was sitting.

“I imagine you’re getting bored with all this cattle talk,” he murmured unexpectedly to her, and Lorna turned her head, discovering he was standing behind her.

When he crouched down, the shadows gathered him in. Lorna remembered the luncheon they had shared in Dodge City and the fun he’d made of the cattle talk going on around them. At the time, the subject hadn’t been important to her. But her attitude had changed in the last half of the trail drive.

“I’m a rancher’s wife,” she reminded Bull. “Cattle are just as much my future as they are Benteen’s. I’m not bored by all this talk. A wife should know something about her husband’s business so she can discuss it intelligently with him.”

“You don’t mind if a cow comes first?” he asked skeptically.

“A cow may be a female, but I’m certainly not going to be jealous of one.” A smile played with her mouth, because she remembered the time when she had resented the priority the animal received from Benteen.

From the edge of the camp, a steer snorted and lowed a curious sound. When Lorna turned to look, she recognized the brindle-colored steer that had always walked at the front of the herd. The light from the fire gleamed on the width of its horns.

“Would you look at that?” Shorty declared. “It’s Captain.”

“He’s probably come to find out why nobody’s ridden out for night guard,” Zeke guessed.