Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

“Well, Mr. Big Boss?” Hobie stopped in front of Webb, addressing him in a derisive challenge. “Are you figurin’ on standin’ around all day?”

Before Webb could respond, Nate inserted, “Sure seemed to me like there’s a lot of strays mixed in that herd. More’n usual. Most of ’em were carryin’ a Snake M brand, too. How do you s’pose that happened?”

“We had a lotta trouble with our fences this year,” Hobie was quick with an answer. “Add to that the way the snow drifted. It made regular bridges for the cows to walk over the fence. Those honyockers get right testy about cattle gettin’ into their fields,” he declared with a grinning smirk. “They sent ’em scattering with no courtesy at all about headin’ ’em back to where they belong. The boss really needs to string new fence, but money bein’ as short as it is, I don’t imagine he’ll be able to do much about keepin’ his cattle in this year.”

“You look all tore up about that, Hobie,” Nate remarked dryly.

Webb took a last drag on his cigarette, then dropped the butt and crushed it under his heel. “Might as well get started branding and sorting this batch.”

He signaled the start of the long afternoon’s work by walking to the big, rangy bay horse he used for roping and swinging aboard. By the time he’d turned his horse toward the herd, the rest of the men were either sitting on their horses or stepping a boot into the stirrup.

It was customary for the ranch owner or his foreman to select the first calf to be branded at the roundup, so Webb rode into the herd and shook out a loop. He smoothly roped the nearest bounding calf and dragged it to the fire, where the branding irons of the various represented ranches were heating to an orange-red. The problem of choosing which brand to use was easily solved by applying one of the basic principles of cowboy lore. The calf would be branded

the same as its mother, and a cow was quick to inform a cowboy with her wild-eyed bawling when he’d roped her calf.

Webb took one look at the cow watching anxiously over her roped calf and called out the brand: “Triple C!” Two of the men on the ground wrestled the youngster down and Old Shorty Niles burned the appropriate brand on its flank.

A dozen more calves were branded in the same manner. Two more ropers joined in with Webb to work the herd. The next calf he snared was a hefty-sized youngster that had the look of a late-fall calf. An indistinct brand was already burned on its hip and it looked suspiciously like the Snake M even though its frantic mother carried the Triple C mark. The bellowing calf was thrown to the ground and the two men holding it looked expectantly at Webb, waiting for him to call the brand.

“Triple C.” He shouted the order to blot out the other brand, then picked out Hobie Evans from the other reps around the branding fire. “Evans! You’d better tell Mace to teach his stray calves not to suck Triple C cows,” he warned. It might have been an accident that the calf had the wrong brand, but then again, it might not. Webb had known he couldn’t let the incident pass without a comment. Silence could have signaled to the unscrupulous an open season on unmarked calves.

The Snake M man had a decidedly unpleasant look on his face, but he made no comment to Webb’s cutting advice as the air turned acrid with the smell of singed hides.

When Lilli walked into the general store at Stefan’s side, she noticed the quick glances and the whispers from the wives of other drylanders. She didn’t blame Stefan for the knowledge in their eyes. The source was undoubtedly Franz Kreuger and his meek wife, who repeated everything her husband told her. Lilli felt like the heroine in that Nathaniel Hawthorne book, The Scarlet Letter. She walked a little straighter into their midst, her head held high. She was accustomed to this silent treatment, having endured so much of it from Stefan. Trust, she was learning, was a fragile thing. Once broken, it took a long time to repair, but the restoration was never total. The cracks were always visible, like a mended piece of china.

The advent of spring had brought her some relief, since Stefan had been in the fields from dawn until dusk. The additional acreage he’d purchased in the autumn meant more ground to be plowed and seeded in wheat, which had necessitated the purchase of another team of horses and the expense of a hired hand, the younger son of one of their new neighbors. No longer content with mere prosperity, Stefan saw wealth around the corner. Lilli suspected his sudden obsession with money was partially a result of his need to prove he was a man and overcome the sense of failure she had caused by her brief interlude with Webb Calder.

There were times in these last few months when her relationship with Stefan had seemed hopeless. On those occasions, she had wondered if she should have given in to Webb’s entreaty to go away with him. She had too much time alone to think about him. His ghost haunted the shack and sat at the table during the many silent meals. She knew he had recovered simply because no one spoke of him around her. If he had died, they wouldn’t have tried to keep the news from her.

Inside the store, she turned to Stefan, behaving neither subdued nor submissive. “I am going to look at material to make into shirts for you. Mr. Ellis mentioned he was expecting a new shipment when we came to town in April. I’m going to see if it has arrived.”

With her intentions stated, she left it up to him whether he accompanied her or not. Stefan shadowed her every time they came to town. Lilli suspected that he believed she would arrange some rendezvous with Webb if he didn’t. Wrong as it was, she hoped she would see Webb, not necessarily speak to him, but just to see him.

Bolts of cloth filled the shelves on the far wall, along with needles, threads, and an assortment of buttons. When Lilli crossed the store to dry goods, Stefan didn’t follow her. He knew where she was and could easily keep an eye on her. And Lilli was fully aware of it.

As she approached the bolts of shirt material, several women were crowded around the same shelf area, inspecting the selection of cloth. None of them attempted to make room for Lilli, ignoring her with subtle ostracism. Lilli struggled to be patient and wait her turn, but there was a part of her that was simmering. Finally she moved to the button counter, too angry to notice the two women examining the narrow spools of lace.

“I believe I prefer this one, Ruth. What do you think?” The older woman looked to the blond-haired woman for her opinion.

It was strictly female curiosity that prompted Lilli to glance at the pair and see if she would have selected the same lace, and also to find out who could afford to buy such a luxury item. The blonde’s response was lost to her as she recognized the older woman with the dark, silvering hair. It was Webb’s mother. There was no question about it. Her pulse quickened, and before she could entertain second thoughts, Lilli approached her.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Calder.” There was a slight break in her voice that made it almost a question.

“Yes?” The woman turned to her, the questioning glance giving way to a steady interest.

“How is your son?” Lilli managed to sound casual about the inquiry. “Is he well?”

“Yes, he is. He has fully recovered from his accident.” There was slight stress on the last word.

“I’m glad to hear it.” She couldn’t hold back all of her smile. Her relief was too natural and genuine to be completely controlled.

“Are you, Lilli?” his mother asked with a certainty that said she knew the answer. Webb was the only one who had ever used the abbreviated form of her name.

“Yes, I am,” Lilli admitted and mentally braced herself against the disapproval she expected to see.

There was something proud in the way she held herself, and something a little defensive. “Evidently he mentioned me to you.”

“He has.” But his mother didn’t elaborate.