This Calder Range (34 page)

He swung out of the saddle and dropped the reins. For the moment, his hands stayed at his side as Benteen faced her and his son. The faint scent of her hair lifted to him. Her dark eyes were shining as they returned his steady look. There was a powerful hint of fire in her slightly pursed lips, a sweetness in them for a man.

Her voice, when she spoke, did not address itself to him but to the nearly month-old boy-child with its mass of black-down hair. “Didn't I tell you Daddy would come home today, Webb?”

All his muscles were drawn together, poised for
movement. With her words, the needs Benteen held in check were released. His arm hooked itself around her waist, discovering its slimness through the heavy shawl, and drew her into him. He bent and kissed her. A fine sweat broke out on him as he felt the gathering insistence of her response.

Benteen knew the pressure of his arms and his mouth were too strong, too assertive of his rights to her. He broke it off, taking a step back, aware of the vibration all the way through him. There was something uncertain and questioning about the way she looked at him. Her lips were still parted and he looked to see if he'd left the print of his roughness on them. Maybe the impulses that drove him were dirt common.

He swung his attention to the baby and caught the little fist flailing the air. A smile edged his mouth as Benteen tried to curl the tiny fingers around his forefinger.

“How did it go?” Lorna asked, and he knew she meant the roundup.

“Good. He doesn't look like the squawling red-faced baby I held.” Benteen took his son from her arms to hold him again.

“You have been gone awhile,” she reminded him.

Cradling the infant in one arm, Benteen turned and scooped up the reins to his horse, looping them over its neck. He stepped a foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle, all in one fluid motion. With his weight shifted to the back of the saddle, he set his baby son in front of him and spread his hand across Webb's chest and stomach to hold him firmly in place.

“Benteen, what do you think you're doing?” Lorna hurried to the side of his horse.

“I'm taking Webb for his first ride.”

“But he isn't even a month old yet,” she protested.

“He has to start sometime if he's going to make a living off a horse like his old man,” Benteen stated, and walked the horse out, aware that Lorna was following anxiously.

He kept the baby's head supported with his body and held his mount at a slow walk. When he'd been three years old, he'd been riding a full-grown horse without the assistance of an adult, so his father told him. Benteen saw no harm in starting his own son out early.

When he reached the crude barn-shed and dismounted, the cowboys gathered around the infant like moths to a flame. In their profession, it was rare to have any contact with babies or youngsters. Lorna stood back amused to watch these hard, rough-talking men cooing and talking silly talk to the baby in Benteen's arms. Woolie insisted Webb had the hands of a first-rate roper, while Bob Vernon claimed he could see the intelligence in the baby's eyes, although they were closed at the time.

Lorna stepped forward to take her son when Webb started fussing. Hats were swept off the cowboys' heads as they made room for her. The birth of the child had elevated her status from merely woman to mother. They treated her like a Madonna.

“There's coffee on the stove,” she said to Benteen when he placed his son into her arms.

“I'll be there as soon as I've seen to my horse,” he promised.

There was something in him that made him take longer at the task than he had to, as if he needed to deny himself the thing he wanted most. When he lifted the latch to the log door and pushed it open, Benteen forced an indifference to his face. The cabin appeared empty as he stepped inside. His searching glance noticed the coffeepot sitting on the iron stove that heated the small space and cooked their food.

“Lorna?”

“I'll be there in a minute.” Her voice came from behind the cloth wall.

His footsteps were drawn to it. When he lifted it, he saw her sitting on their bed nursing their son. Her eyes widened to show him a startled expression. Color ran
richly across her cheeks as she started to interrupt the baby's feeding.

“Don't stop if he's still hungry.” Benteen stepped around the curtain and let it fall into place behind him.

“He's very greedy sometimes,” Lorna murmured.

Benteen looked down on the pair. The front of her dress was unbuttoned to free the taut fullness of her breast. Little fists pushed at its roundness while a small mouth sucked vigorously on the nipple.

“I didn't think I could stand calmly by while another male enjoyed the ripeness of your breasts,” Benteen commented.

“He's nursing,” Lorna murmured. “It's hardly the same.”

“I should hope not,” he said dryly, and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside them.

His hand reached to stroke his son's head, then traced a finger over the swell of her breast. He unfastened a few more buttons and pushed aside her dress to expose both breasts. She breathed in when he cupped the weight of her other breast in his hand and stroked his thumb over the rose-brown nipple. He was aroused by needs long unfulfilled.

“I'm going to be envious of my son for a while,” he admitted, and she finally lifted her dark eyes to look at him. It was a wordless comment, steeped with flaring passions. There was a struggle within him before Benteen finally pushed aside his desire and drew away. “I think I'll pour myself that cup of coffee.”

A trio of riders quietly sat their horses, poised on the crest of a hill more than a half mile from the ranch. Bull Giles pushed his hat to the back of his head and leaned on the saddle horn, studying the improvements that had been made since he'd last seen it. He looked complacently at the gaunt and narrow man in the middle.

“I told you Calder had the best range staked out for
himself.” He felt the coldness of the light gray eyes touch him, then swing back to the scene.

“It would seem that way,” Loman Janes replied. Giles felt a rush of intolerance for the man's icy ways. “Moore's got the adjoining stretch of river, and Stanton's laid claim to a section on the north. Calder's got control of … probably six hundred square miles already.”

“Bein' first in a fight don't mean you'll be standin' when it's over. You ought to know that, Bull.” Loman curled his lip over the words. “Calder may control the range. But who's challenged him?”

“You're talkin' about Benteen Calder—not the old man,” Giles retorted.

“Ain't you heard that sayin'—like father, like son?” The Ten Bar foreman didn't wait for a reply as he glanced to the third rider. “Let's ride down and say our howdies.”

The last member of the trio was a man named Trace Reynolds. He was a fair cowhand, a better tracker, and the best marksman in Texas. It was whispered that, for a price, someone could choose the target, but those kind of whispers followed any man who showed a proficiency with firearms.

Bull Giles straightened in the saddle, glad of Loman Janes's suggestion. Lorna Calder might be a married woman, but he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Wrong or not, he wanted to see her again.

When Benteen heard Lorna come out from behind the curtain, he kept his back to her and walked to the stove to add more coffee to his cup. There was a small sound from the baby and the soft reassurance of her voice murmuring to it.

Another sound intruded as quick, striding footsteps approached the cabin door. There was a sharp knock, which Benteen didn't want to answer.

It was immediately followed by Woolie's voice.
“There's three riders comin' in. One of 'em's a big man. Looks like Bull Giles.”

Benteen pivoted, throwing Lorna a sharp glance. She was kneeling beside the cradle Zeke had made. “You stay inside,” he ordered, and walked to the door.

Before going outside, he took the gun and holster off the wall peg and buckled it on. He couldn't say his reason for arming himself. It was sheer instinct rather than any sense of threat from Bull Giles.

When he stepped out of the cabin, the three riders were walking their horses into the yard. Benteen stiffened, recognizing the pock-faced man in the lead. Without needing to look, his peripheral vision told him where Woolie was standing, backing him up. Zeke and Bob were at the shed-barn, checking a horse with a loose shoe and watching the riders as they stopped their horses facing Benteen.

“You're a long way from home, Janes,” Benteen remarked. “Lost your way?”

“Mr. Boston's been hearin' a lot of things about this country. He thought maybe I should take a look at it,” Loman Janes said.

“Giles turned in a good report when he got back, I guess.” Benteen threw a glance at the big-chested man and caught him searching the cabin—for a glimpse of Lorna, no doubt.

“Mr. Boston has been thinkin' about expanding his holdings.” Loman ignored the reference to Bull Giles. “It shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Calder. A lotta big outfits in Texas are lookin' north to this free grass. You didn't really think you were gonna keep this range all to yourself?”

“No,” Benteen admitted. “I figure to have neighbors. And it's expecting too much to think the vermin will stay away for long.”

Loman Janes stretched his mouth into a curved line that showed a chilling smile. “An' sometimes you have to drive the snakes out before a place is fit to live in.”
He gathered the reins to his horse. “We stopped to see if it'd be all right to make camp by the river. We've traveled a piece and need to light somewhere ‘fore it gets dark.”

“You can camp there,” Benteen granted permission. “Just don't go makin' yourselves too much at home.”

The coldly mocking smile stayed on Loman Janes's face as he slowly reined his horse in a turn away from the cabin and Benteen. From inside, the baby cried, and Bull Giles squared his shoulders to stare at Benteen.

“Is that a baby?”

“My son,” Benteen stated, and watched the muscles tighten in Bull Giles's neck.

“Your wife … is doing well, I hope,” he tersely inquired after Lorna's health.

“Yes.” Benteen continued to send his level gaze at the big man.

“Congratulations, then,” he said thickly, and wheeled his horse alongside the Ten Bar foreman.

The trio lifted their horses into a shuffling trot and aimed for a point at the river not far from the ranch buildings.

Woolie stepped up to stand beside Benteen. “What do you think?” he asked, because he'd never been much good at figuring out other people's motives.

“Like he said, it shouldn't be a surprise that Boston's looking north,” Benteen replied grimly. “The big always want to get bigger.”

“I've heard he don't particularly care how he gets there,” Woolie offered.

“Maybe someone will set him straight,” Benteen suggested, and sent a dry glance to Woolie.

The cowboy grinned. “Maybe.”

As he turned to reenter the cabin, Benteen realized he hadn't been surprised to see Loman Janes. The idea that someone from Boston's outfit might show up must have been at the back of his mind since last summer
when Bull Giles had wandered in. There was trouble coming, and he'd best be making his plans for it now.

He walked into the cabin and unbuckled his gunbelt, hanging it back on the peg. Lorna noticed his preoccupied look and slowly stopped rocking the cradle.

“Who was it?” she asked, pretending that she hadn't heard the conversation outside.

“Loman Janes, Judd Boston's foreman.” Benteen walked to the canvas curtain and lifted the bottom. “It seems Boston has decided he wants some of this free grass.”

She frowned when she saw him take out his knife and make a slashing cut a couple of feet long at the bottom of the curtain. “What are you doing?”

“I need to make a map,” he said, and made a crosscut to end up with a rectangular piece of white cloth. He carried it to the table and spread it out. “Get me a pencil, will you?”

“A map of what?” She handed him one from her sewing kit.

“Of our ranch, and the range surrounding it.”

There weren't any maps of the area, except the one in his head. He had tried to explore as much of the surrounding territory as the time away from the ranch would permit. He began sketching the information, translating it from his head to the piece of canvas cloth. He drew in the Stanton claim, and Barnie's along with his own.

After more than two hours' work, correcting distances and locations, it was beginning to take shape. He didn't notice when Lorna lit the lamp and set it on the table, or smell the food cooking on the stove.

“I can't keep this food hot much longer, Benteen, or it will be ruined,” she finally interrupted him.

He was so engrossed in the map, he'd forgotten she was there. Then her words sank in, and Benteen leaned back in his chair and combed a hand through his hair.

“I've got it pretty well finished,” he said with a tired sigh, and began rolling it up.

She began setting the table, while Benteen walked over to wash his hands in the basin. “Why did you need to make the map?”

“For the future.”

Whatever plan he had in mind, it was plain that he wasn't ready to tell her. Later that evening, Lorna took a look at the map he'd drawn. Three areas were marked with a dotted line. She mentally filled them in and realized they formed a long rectangle with their ranch, Barnie's land, and Ely and Mary's place.

After breakfast the next morning, Lorna carried the pan of dishwater outside to throw it into the tall grass by the river. She heard the horses coming out of the trees a little ways downstream as she emptied the pan. She paused to look when the trio of riders appeared.

When Bull Giles noticed her, he hesitated, then swung his horse away from the pair and rode over to speak to her. Lorna waited, regarding him as a friend despite the company he kept, and locked her hands around the circumference of the dishpan.