Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

Lorna set her needlework aside and walked to the window. Her eyes widened in disbelief when she recognized Benteen climbing out of the car. “Good heavens, it’s Benteen.” She didn’t bother to elaborate as she hurried out the door into the Texas-mild February afternoon. “What are you doing in that thing?”

“How do you like it?” A smile split his sun-leathered face.

“Like it? What do you mean?” She took another look at the black vehicle. “Don’t tell me you bought this?”

“I did. I’ve arranged to have it shipped north with that new bull I bought.” He brushed at the dust that had collected on the shiny black fender. “It’s one of Ford’s Model Ts. That’s genuine leather on the seat. Climb in and I’ll take you for a ‘spin’—which is the salesman’s vernacular for a ride,” he explained with a wink.

“Are you sure you know how to operate this thing?” Lorna eyed the machine with a degree of skepticism.

“One of the first things I learned was “giddyup’ and ‘whoa’ don’t work,” Benteen teased. “Get in and I’ll start it up.” He helped her into the passenger seat, then walked around to the front. “To start the motor, you have to crank it. It’s like priming a pump.” He began turning the crank handle, which produced a grinding noise and a weak sputter.

“Are you sure you know how to start it?” Lorna chided playfully when he stopped to catch his breath.

“It takes some cranking,” he assured her and vigorously turned the crank again.

Suddenly, he stopped, bending over to clutch the front edge of the hood. There was a fleeting moment when Lorna thought he was teasing her. Then he sank to his knees and she saw the hand clutched at his chest.

“Benteen, what is it?” She clambered out of the car to rush to his side. He was laboring for breath, his face pale and contorted with pain. “What’s wrong?” She tried to get a shoulder under him and help him to his feet.

“My chest . . . the pressure . . .” His rasping voice explained no more than that as more and more of his weight sagged on her.

“Benteen. Oh, my God,” Lorna sobbed, unable to support him. She looked to the house. “Momma!”

Both hands were clamped tightly around Benteen’s, so Lorna could feel the reassuring beat of his pulse, no matter how weak and faint. The black-coated doctor folded his stethoscope and returned it to his bag. His silent and serious look requested to speak to her privately. Reluctantly, she let go of Benteen’s hand and moved to the foot of the bed.

“How is he? Will he be all right?” she asked in a thready whisper so Benteen wouldn’t hear. He’d been in and out of consciousness since the attack.

“I will not pretend with you, Mrs. Calder. His condition is extremely serious,” the doctor replied soberly, “I consider it a miracle that he is still alive at all.”

Lorna breathed in, and it caught in her throat. She was shaking all over and she tried to hold herself rigid. A response was impossible at the moment. Benteen stirred, drawing her teary gaze. She saw the feeble groping of his fingers for her and moved quickly to his side, taking his hand and pressing it to her lips.

“I’m here, darling,” she managed shakily.

His eyelids lifted, showing her the weak but determined light burning in his eyes. “Take me home, Lorma.” His voice was thin, without strength. “For God’s sake, don’t let me die in Texas.”

“Sssh, darling.” The tears rolled down her cheeks at his plea, and her chin quivered. “You aren’t going to die.” His eyes closed and she knew he had drifted again into unconsciousness. “Doctor”—she lifted her face to him—“could he survive the train ride to Montana?”

“In his condition, it’s unlikely, Mrs. Calder,” he replied.

“Will he live if he stays here?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head sadly. “As I said, I don’t know how he has managed to survive at all.”

Lowering her head, she pressed a hand to the middle of her forehead. She could have explained to the doctor that it was really quite simple. Benteen had provided the answer when he asked her not to let him die in Texas, but she didn’t think the doctor would understand. When they had crossed the Red River those many years ago, the Texas dirt had been washed from his boots. It was that Montana land he had craved then, and it was what he craved now. She had gone with him then, not knowing what was at the end; she would go with him now, still not knowing what was at the end.

She ran her hand down her face, wiping away the tears. A calmness steadied her. “I should like to hire a nurse to make the journey with us. Would you recommend one, Doctor?” It was an order rather than a request.

“Are you fully aware of what you are doing?” he asked.

“Yes, Doctor.” She nodded. “I’m taking my husband home.”

Through her husband’s connections, Lorna obtained the use of a private railroad car for the journey north. She hired an experienced nurse to travel with them and sent a wire to Webb. Over her parents’ protest and the doctor’s, she left Texas with Benteen a second time.

The jolting rock of the private car as it followed the sharp bend in the tracks snapped Lorna awake. Guiltily, she realized she had dozed off, and glanced quickly at Benteen, but he appeared to be sleeping. Her tired muscles relaxed a little in the chair, the effects of the endless journey and the sleepless hours telling on her. They must be very near their destination now. She looked out the window, but the view was obscured by the crystal patterns of frost.

“Are we home, Lorna?” His voice sounded remarkably clear.

“We’re very close, darling.”