Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

But there were a lot of things in between that he left unsaid. Instead of paying off their loan, they were borrowing more money, which meant that would have to be closely budgeted. There would be nothing to spare for luxuries this winter—or even some of the minor necessities.

“Vhen ve go to the store, ve must get plenty of supplies,” Stefan advised. “Vinter vill come soon and it may be a long time before ve come to town again.”

“Yes.” But Lilli was noticing the horses wearing heavy stock saddles tied in front of the saloon. She wondered if Webb were inside. Almost guiltily, her glance darted to Stefan, and the silence between them grew longer. She couldn’t decide whether she was changing or if it was Stefan, but things weren’t the same between them anymore.

Shorty Niles stared incredulously at the aproned man behind the bar. “What do you mean we can’t get anything to drink?” he demanded.

“We don’t serve any liquor here until after three in the afternoon,” the man repeated. “Now, if you want somethin’ to eat, just park yourselves at one of those tables.”

“I don’t want anything to eat. I want a beer, Where’s Sonny?” Shorty looked around for the owner.

“He’s back in the kitchen cooking.” The man jerked a hand over his shoulder.

“Since when did this become a restaurant?” Another Triple C hand pushed his way to the bar to add his demand for an explanation to Shorty’s.

“Since the town passed an ordinance that outlaws liquor being served until after three in the afternoon,” the man explained none too patiently. “Sonny didn’t see any reason for the place to stand empty all day, so he started servin’ food since the town don’t have a restaurant.”

A half-dozen tables were occupied by diners taking advantage of the roadhouse’s additional service. The cowboys had been the center of their attention since they had charged into the establishment. Webb could tell they weren’t exactly welcome.

“I don’t care what any town ordinance says,” another disgruntled cowboy declared. “Let them eat, and give me a drink.”

“We got a sheriff that does care about that ordinance,” the man retorted. “Now, I told you we aren’t servin’ drinks until after three. And if you don’t like it, I just call the sheriff and let him settle this.”

“Why’d they pass a damn-fool law like that?” Nate frowned.

“I guess they didn’t want a bunch of likkered-up cowboys on the street molestin’ decent women anymore,” the man suggested in challenge.

“Tell you what,” Webb inserted. “Why don’t you sell us a bottle and we’ll go somewhere else.”

“Yeah.” There was quick agreement within the group. “We’ll go see Fannie.”

“Fannie ain’t here no more. The doc’s got his office back there now,” the man informed them.

“The doc? This town got a doctor?”

“A certified belly and bones doctor, name of Bardolph.”

“What happened to Fannie?” That seemed the greater concern among the men, since they preferred her cure for their ailments to any doctor’s remedy.

“The sheriff presented her with a train ticket out of town,” the man replied.

“I’m not findin’ much to like about this sheriff,” Shorty declared.

“What about the bottle?” Abe Garvey raised Webb’s question again. “Is it against the law to sell that to us, too?”

“Don’t remember there was any mention of that,” the man acknowledged. “So I reckon I can. But you don’t drink it in here,” he reminded them. There was a mocking display of raised hands and solemn oaths being taken.

“Better make that two bottles,” someone suggested when the man reached under the bar. “It’s a long, thirsty time till three o’clock.”

“Where are we gonna go?”

They all looked around at one another, trying to think of a good place to do a little serious drinking, until someone finally suggested, “Let’s go down to the train station.”

Two of the cowboys took a bottle apiece and tucked them inside th

eir jackets. All together, they trooped out of the roadhouse turned daytime restaurant and sauntered down the sidewalk toward the depot. They tipped their hats to all the ladies they passed and paid lavish compliments to the pretty, eligible ones. The responses were always the same. The quiet ones blushed and the others giggled. And the mothers always gave the cowboys stern, disapproving looks and hurried their virginal daughters along.

At the train station, they lounged around on the platform, making use of the benches and freight crates. After lonely months of having no one to talk to but horses and cows, they made up for the silence and lack of companionship with a lot of noise and laughter.