He looked at her for a long second, then scooped her off the ground and into his arms. “Believe this, Lorna,” he said. “I’m never going to give you the chance to leave me.”
Despite the possessive ring in his voice, it wasn’t the answer she wanted. She knew, without being told in so many words, that he didn’t want to need her. There was a part of him that didn’t want to love her. That’s why he allowed her to occupy only a small space in his life and not the whole of it. But she wasn’t going to let it continue, even if it meant becoming a nag or a shrew.
Spring was twice as busy that year. The mild winter had given them a good calf crop. That and the continuing boom in the cattle market convinced Benteen to begin the construction of the house on the knoll. In addition to the branding crews, he hired men to dig the footings and ordered lumber from the mill. A well was drilled to supply the house with running water, and a crew of carpenters was hired.
The house began to take shape right before Lorna’s eyes. It was going to be more magnificent than she had dreamed it would be. Benteen consulted her on just about every detail. She was too excited by all their plans and the sight of the mushrooming structure to notice that he failed to keep her abreast of happenings elsewhere on the ranch. There were wall coverings to be chosen, furniture to be picked out, and draperies to be selected, carpets for the floors, and fixtures in the house. All of it had to be ordered and shipped in viatrain, steamboat, and finally freight wagon. If they were lucky, it would arrive when the house was finished.
When Jessie Trumbo arrived in late July with another herd of Longhorns from Texas, he beheld the sight of the two-story structure towering up from the plains. It was merely the outer shell, but it gave him quite a start.
Fat Frank Fitzsimmons lifted the stopper covering the container and squeezed his pudgy hand through the opening to take out two pieces of peppermint sticks. There was a twinkle in his eye as he turned to Lorna.
“It sure is a shame there aren’t two good little boys in my store that I could give this candy to,” he declared, and deliberately ignored the two boys that, a second ago, had been pushing at each other.
“I’m good,” Webb piped up immediately.
Little Arthur stuck a finger in his mouth and blinked at the fat man with wide-eyed innocence. “Dood,” he affirm
ed, despite the finger in his mouth.
“Well…” The proprietor hesitated for a minute more under the anxious looks from the boys. “I guess you have been pretty good.” He was too fat to bend over, so he leaned downward and gave a piece of candy to each of them.
“What do you say to Mr. Fitzsimmons?” Lorna prompted.
“Thank you.” Webb had to take the stick out of his mouth to respond.
Little Arthur didn’t think it was necessary. “T’ank oo.”
“You’re welcome.” The fat man beamed and helped himself to a stick of peppermint before he covered the jar. “I’m still a little boy myself—a growing one.” He patted his stomach and laughed.
“I don’t think you should give them candy every time we come in,” Lorna protested mildly. “They’ll start expecting it.”
“And they’ll always want to come to my store when you shop. Bribe the youngsters and get their parents’ trade.” He declared his motive openly.
“You have certainly expanded since I was here in the spring,” Lorna remarked, and glanced around at the improvements he’d made. A second room had been added on, which was now the saloon area and separate from the store. There were glass windows in the front and shelves to hold his goods. It seemed she could never enter a general store without judging it according to her father’s.
“From what I’ve heard, you and your husband have been doing some building, too.” He began packing her purchases in a box.
“Yes, we are building a home.” She tried not to sound too proud.
“A mansion, by all accounts,” he chided her modesty.
“It certainly seems huge compared to the one-room log cabin we’re living in now.”
“When will it be finished?”
“I was hoping we could celebrate Christmas in it, but I doubt if the furniture will arrive by then. We plan to move into it sometime this winter.”
“It’s only fitting that you and your husband have a grand home,” Frank Fitzsimmons assured her. “Your husband is bull of the woods around here. I hear he’s running upwards of twenty thousand cows on his range.”
“Really,” Lorna murmured, unaware the number was so large. She opened her cloth purse. “How much do I owe you?”
“I’ll just put it on your account,” he replied.
She hadn’t known Benteen had set up an account at the store. It was something else he had omitted telling her, but she didn’t let on to the storekeeper.
“Of course.” She smiled thinly.
“I’ll carry this out to the wagon for you.” The fat-man picked up the box, puffing at the slightest exertion, and waddled out from behind the counter. “Did someone ride in with you?”