Stands a Calder Man (19 page)

“Ya?” He seemed to question her observation, but she noticed that he held his head a little higher.

Strangely, she didn't find any satisfaction in the knowledge that she had reassured him. Her blue eyes were clouded by the troubled thoughts in her mind, brought on by the slow discovery that Stefan had asked the question out of jealousy. It was obvious that Webb Calder was younger and stronger, more handsome in the hard way this land had of growing men. She hoped it was merely the jealousy an older man had toward one younger. Stefan was very dear to her. Lilli didn't want him to know a part of her was drawn to Webb Calder. She was certain it was natural to like someone who was more attractive and closer to her own age, but it didn't
mean she thought any less of Stefan, although she doubted that he would understand the innocence of the attraction.

Someone called to them before they had passed the first row of wagons around the dance floor. Both stopped to turn and look behind them.

“It is Franz Kreuger.” Stefan identified the man threading his way through the milling group of homesteaders toward them.

“I'm sure he wishes to speak to you.” Lilli had the feeling that their neighbor didn't like her very much, although he had certainly never indicated it in any overt way. “I'll go on to the wagon and wait for you there.”

Stefan nodded agreement and started back to meet his friend. Lilli lingered a moment to watch them. In truth, she didn't like Franz Kreuger very much, either. Maybe he had guessed that. He struck her as being arrogant and intolerant toward anyone who didn't share his views. He knew it all and pressed his biased opinions on everyone around him. Lilli suspected Franz Kreuger's distrust of those who had more than he did, like the ranchers especially, was really a mask for jealousy. Of course, Stefan would disagree, but he had been influenced by his neighbor's stronger personality.

Sighing, Lilli turned and began strolling toward their wagon. In places, the wagons were three deep. They had arrived at the dance area late, so theirs was parked in one of the outer rows. It was already evening, but the summer sun was still up and the air was warm. The band was starting to play again, but the music drifted away from her on a dying breeze.

She began humming the melody the band had played when she danced with Webb Calder. She could almost feel the guiding pressure of his hands, leading her through the steps. He was an important person, probably the most sought-after bachelor in the area, and he had danced with her. As a matter of fact, she had only noticed him on the dance floor a couple of times. It was
curious the way he had disappeared right after he had finished the dance with her. It made her feel just a little special that she had been one of the few he had partnered. She had liked the way he had made her smile with his amusing tale about cowboys dancing with each other. For a little second, she had been tempted to flirt with him until discretion surfaced.

It was a new experience to have a man pay attention to her, especially one of Webb Calder's caliber. Most of her life she'd been too young; then her parents had died and many harsh realities about living alone had had to be faced. She had missed out on being courted, so the dance with Webb Calder had given her a little sample of what it might have been like. Stefan was so staid and stolid, he shouldn't object if she stole a few minutes of excitement, but Lilli knew he would.

As Lilli reached their wagon, the Belgian mare, Dolly, issued a low, inquiring whicker. “We'll go home as soon as Stefan comes,” she assured the animal, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. Instead of climbing onto the wagon seat, she leaned against the side of the box.

“Lilli.” A low voice called her name.

She turned, startled. The vague surprise disappeared the instant she recognized Webb Calder. It didn't occur to her to question what he was doing here or why he had sought her out. For the moment, she felt only the pleasure of seeing him again.

He was framed against the backdrop of the plains. It seemed fitting, because they had shaped him so. It was something she could see clearly, being city-bred herself. With so much room, he'd grown big and tall, but the sun and wind had carved him into flat sinews and bronzed his skin. His smile was slow to come, but it always held meaning. Even when he was looking at her, as now, his dark eyes still showed the habit of looking across far distances.

“Hello,” she greeted him easily.

As he walked to her, Webb studied the outline of her
body, slim and lovely against the velvet curtain of shadows. There wasn't much left in the whiskey bottle propped against the wheel a few wagons away. He followed a stiff, straight line to her, one foot determinedly planted in front of the other.

Webb stopped when he reached her. Her wide lips were curved in a smile, and he thought he saw extra warmth in the blue eyes for him. The caution that should have been in his head if the alcohol hadn't dulled his thinking was nowhere to be found. After drifting so long, not knowing what he wanted, he seemed to have found it.

“Are you leaving?” His voice stayed low-pitched.

“Yes.” She added an affirmative nod. “Stefan stopped to speak to a neighbor, so I came on ahead.”

Her words ripped at the fine feeling he'd known so briefly. She belonged to another man; all that bold spirit and beauty were for Stefan Reisner. Webb swayed, like a heartsick wild animal at the end of its tether watching others of its kind run free. Too much pressure was applied against the rope, and it snapped. His hands closed on her shoulders and he felt her stiffen in startled resistance as he gathered her to his body.

Too stunned to struggle, Lilli barely had time to bring her hands up against his chest in an instinctive effort to ward him off. The muscled arm circling her waist pressed her to his hard, strong body; then his hand was gripping the back of her head, holding it still so she couldn't avoid him. She caught the smell of liquor on his breath and realized he was drunk.

A tiny animal cry of struggle came from her paralyzed throat, but it was silenced by the driving pressure of his mouth on her lips. He claimed them with a hunger and need that were jolting. It was not the gently warm and quiet kind of kiss she'd come to know. The sensation was a crazy, downward spiral that seemed to reach all the way to her stomach. She was frightened by the intensity of the feeling.

She shuddered with relief when he dragged his
mouth from hers and trailed it down the curve of her neck. She was shaken and raw; the condition didn't improve under his nuzzling exploration and the virile impact of his hard length.

“Lilli, you don't belong with him,” he muttered thickly.

The sound of his voice seemed to release her from the numbed silence. Lilli clung to the belief that he wouldn't have forced his attentions on her if he hadn't been drinking. Since he had lost his head, it was up to her to remain calm.

“Mr. Calder, if you don't let me go this minute, I shall have to scream,” she informed him. Her voice sounded steady, but she hoped he didn't notice how agitated her breathing was.

She was willing to excuse his behavior and not mention it to Stefan if Webb released her now. Drink caused men to behave in ways they wouldn't consider while they were sober, she kept telling herself, trying to rationalize why she wanted this incident kept secret.

Her threat did not loosen the closed circle of his arms, but he did lift his head, as if to see if she meant it. With an effort, Lilli boldly returned his look to convince him she would scream if he didn't do as she had asked. He shook his head in a silent request for her not to make any sound and cupped a hand over her mouth, his callused palm lightly brushing aginst her lips. Yet the very gentleness of his action indicated it was not a genuine attempt to smother any outcry.

A second later, he was drawing away from her. The broken look in his expression nearly tore her apart. Lilli discovered something that stirred and depressed her. It was taking hold of her heart, catching her up in a struggle as old as the ages, yet new to her. A raw and wild frustration ran in her.

“Hey! Isn't that smoke?” a man shouted, out of sight beyond some other wagons. “Look there! To the west!”

The cry of alarm claimed Webb's attention, which had been trained too long to alertness not to respond.

It sobered him in an instant as his suddenly sharp gaze swept the western horizon, halting on the billowing black plume of smoke rising into the air.

Fire. A man didn't have to live long in this open country to know the kind of devastation a grass fire could do once it took hold. The smoke appeared confined to a narrow area, but it could spread to a whole hillside in minutes with all this summer-dry grass for fuel.

Webb didn't waste time confirming the sighting. He broke into a run for his horse. The area around the dance floor was emptying of ranchers and cowboys, all alive to the dangers of a prairie fire. The green settlers were slower to react, but the alarm of the Montana natives was contagious.

When Stefan reached Lillian, he didn't waste any more time with explanations than Webb had. He hustled her into the wagon seat and picked up the reins, slapping them on the rumps of the Belgian team. She grabbed hold of the seat with both hands and hung on.

Pounding hooves vibrated over the ground as riders and wagons raced toward the growing tower of smoke. Webb was among the first group to arrive on the scene. The fire had started in the tar-paper shack of some homesteader, raged through it, and set the grass around it ablaze. From there, it had begun spreading quickly. The heat from the fire generated its own draft to fan the flames onward.

Cowboys peeled off their horses and paused long enough to strip off saddle blankets and use them to beat the flames. Loose horses scattered and milled, interfering with arriving wagon teams. A wide, plowed strip of fallow land formed a firebreak to confine the spread of flames on one side.

The fire was inching fastest to the west, and the cowboys threw all their energies in that direction to check the spread. “There's no damned water!” someone complained. Without water to wet blankets, they weren't as effective.

Next to the smoldering remains of the shack, there was a charred and blackened barrel that held the drylander's water. The wet contents had kept the barrel from burning, but it was too far away with too much smoldering ground between it and the firefighters to do them any good.

The cowboys had organized themselves into a combat unit, experienced at fighting prairie fires, but the drylanders, for all their eagerness to help, were milling about in confusion, not knowing what to do. As Webb
was driven back by the heat of the flames, he noticed the directionless homesteaders advancing uncertainly toward the fire, without blankets or any weapons except their own will to stamp out the flames.

“Where is the fire wagon?” one of them demanded. “Why hasn't it come?”

Webb stifled the run of impatience at the question and pulled down the kerchief he'd tied around his face to keep from inhaling too much smoke. Most of these drylanders came from the cities, where they relied on someone else to fight their fires. But they weren't living in the city now.

“If any of you have water barrels on your wagons, bring them up here!” Webb shouted the order. “Wet down blankets and jackets, anything you have, and use them to beat down the flames!” No one objected to his directives, relieved to know what they were to do, and Webb suddenly found himself taking charge. “Spread out and form a line! Don't all of you bunch together! If the wind shifts, you'll find yourself trapped in a circle of fire!”

A homesteader came running up to him, stricken and pale, “You got to keep the fire from burning my wheatfield!”

“To hell with your wheatfield!” Webb glared. “If we don't stop this fire, it'll blacken hundreds of square miles!” He pushed the man toward a gap in the newly formed line. “Get in there!”

Two wagons came rolling up, the horse teams plunging and shying at the swirling curtain of smoke that heralded the advancing flames. Both had water barrels in back. Webb vaulted onto the back of one of the wagons and lifted off the barrel cover.

“You ladies!” He waved to women hovering anxiously in the rear. “Start wetting down the blankets for the men so they don't have to leave the line! And if any of you have shovels or tools in your wagons, bring them up here!”

With all hands put to constructive use, Webb went up and down the line, pitching in himself wherever there
were flash points. The fiery heat sweated the alcohol out of his system as adrenaline surged through his blood.

The fire crackled nearly underfoot and the choking smoke filled Benteen's lungs, paralyzing him with a coughing spasm. Webb saw it and grabbed his father by the shoulders, guiding him away from the fire to an unthreatened area near the wagons, where the air was relatively clear of smoke and blowing cinders.

“Are you okay?” Webb paused long enough to ask and see the affirming nod from his father. Then he straightened and called an order to the first woman he recognized. “Ruth, take care of him and keep him here.”

Ruth hurried over, bringing a dipper of water for the senior Calder. He accepted it, flicking a grateful look at the girl before his gaze traveled after his son. There were tears in his eyes. Some of them were caused by the burning smoke, but most of them came from pride. His son was finally taking responsibility for something and giving orders.

“Dammit, I knew you had it in you all along, son,” Benteen whispered under his breath.

“What did you say, Mr. Calder?” Ruth asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head and raised the dipper to his mouth, letting the water soothe his smoke-raw throat. God, he was tired, he thought and sank back against a wagon. Maybe he wouldn't have to work so hard now; he'd let Webb take over some of the more arduous chores so he could spend more time with Lorna. The Lord knew she deserved more of his time than he'd given her.