This Calder Range (31 page)

The gun was lowered to rest in her lap. That was what the prostitute had said when they'd spoken so briefly in the millinery shop. The redhead named Pearl had advised her that if Lorna wanted to keep Benteen from seeing that kind of woman, she had to be wilder in bed than he was.

During those first weeks of marriage, Lorna had
learned that Benteen responded to the passion she once tried to conceal. And she had responded to his. Even though she'd had cause to keep him from her bed, the question was: for how long? If she wanted her marriage to work—which she did—then certain changes had to occur. She had forgiven him for what had happened; now she must forget it.

The gun returned to the valise, along with the brass token of the Dodge City charmer. She gathered up the clothes to wash and left the wagon.

All day long, she had time to think about her decision. When Benteen returned from town in the late afternoon, Lorna felt quite calm about it. She barely noticed the package he was carrying—if anything, presuming it was supplies—until he offered it to her instead of Rusty.

“I bought something for you,” Benteen stated with a bland look. “I had to guess at the size.”

Her calmness fled. Lorna hadn't expected a gift, and she was knocked completely off balance by it. She stared at the package, then at Benteen. His jaw hardened at her hesitation, taking it as a rejection of anything that came from him.

Murmuring “I don't know what to say,” she reached out to take it from him. “What is it?”

“Open it and find out,” he urged.

It was a flat-crowned cowboy hat. At first Lorna could only stare at it. Finally she lifted her sparkling gaze to Benteen.

“You looked silly in that bonnet.” Warmth gentled his look. “Every cowboy has to have a hat. You'd better see if it fits.”

When she tried it on, the hat was a little snug, but she'd probably be glad of that on a windy day. Lorna wished she had a mirror handy. For the moment, she had to rely on Benteen's opinion.

“How does it look?” she asked.

“It doesn't go with the dress.” His mouth crooked.

“But I promised not to wear pants around camp.” She laughed, but he pulled his gaze away from her and she knew she'd said the wrong thing.

“The hat looks fine.”

“Thank you for buying it for me,” Lorna offered. “I really like it.”

“You're welcome.” With the present given, he moved away.

It was going to be difficult to make the overture when he was so determined to keep his distance from her. She understood why, but that didn't make her decision any easier to carry out. She hoped she had the boldness to see it through.

Her earlier calmness never returned. It was the approach of her wedding night all over again. All through supper, the little flutterings in her stomach wouldn't go away. While she was washing dishes, Lorna saw Benteen go to the wagon for his bedroll, which she had hidden away.

The last dish was handed to Mary to dry, and Lorna was wiping her hands on her skirt when Benteen walked over. She felt the mad race of her pulse, caused by either anticipation or apprehension. Part of her wasn't sure. She had difficulty meeting the frowning study of his gaze.

“What did you do with my bedroll?” He kept his voice down for only Lorna to hear. “I can't find it.”

“I put it away.” The casualness was forced. “You won't be needing it.”

She hoped he would take the subtle hint and not expect her to be more explicit. When she started to turn away, his hand was on her arm to stop her.

“Why won't I need it, Lorna?” His dark gaze searched her face for the answer.

“Why would you, if you're going to be sleeping in the wagon?” Her attempt at a smile trembled with nervousness.

“Is that where I'm sleeping?” Benteen asked huskily.

“Yes,” she said, and took a deep breath. “I want you to be my husband, Benteen.”

She felt herself being drawn into him. Lorna thought he was going to gather her into his arms and take her on the spot, the desire for possession was so overpowering in his look. Then his glance swung impatiently at the sun still hovering on the horizon. She couldn't hold back her nervous laugh. It stopped abruptly when he looked at her again. There was a moment's unease as Lorna wondered if he would be rough and demanding. His sharp gaze seemed to read her doubt.

“I'll make it beautiful for you,” he murmured.

The promise brought a hint of pink to her cheeks. This time when Lorna turned away, Benteen let her go. She crossed to the wagon and climbed inside. There were many preparations she wanted to make before he came to her.

Removing the pins from her hair, she untangled its dark length from the coiled bun, then brushed it until it crackled and glistened. She stripped off her clothes all the way to the skin, and sparingly used Lady Crawford's lotion to make her body silken to his touch. Evening shadows were stealing in when she slipped under the quilt to wait for Benteen.

It wasn't long before the tent flap was lifted and he stepped into the back of the wagon. Unable to see in the darkness, Lorna listened to the sounds he made undressing. When he raised the quilt to lie down beside her, she felt a tremor go through her body.

“I hope this night will be as long as all the others have been.” His voice was lower than a murmur as he moved to her.

It was too late for any kind of second thoughts as his mouth searched hers with a hunger Benteen didn't try to control. She closed her eyes as her lips parted voluntarily to deepen the kiss. There was no more reason to think as instinct took over and her hands slid compulsively up his muscled shoulders.

His fingers were tunneling under the weight of her hair and spreading down her spine to gather her closer. She felt him stiffen. The demanding pressure of his mouth eased as he muttered thickly against her lips, “My God, you aren't wearing any clothes.”

“No. I wanted it like our wedding night—with nothing between us,” Lorna admitted in a murmuring whisper.

His hands began to move over her body, down her spine to the slender indentation of her waist and the rounded curve of her hip. Lorna shivered with a raw pleasure, moaning softly. Benteen accepted the silent invitation and abandoned her lips to nibble at the slim curve of her neck.

Inevitably, it seemed, he continued his exploration to the taut swell of her breasts. Where his kiss had been hungry and demanding, he now teased and tantalized. His tongue was like rough velvet on her breast, tracing small spirals around the sensitive rosy peak. Her hands buried themselves into the thickness of his hair and tried to force an end to the exquisite torment.

The moment spun out endlessly as Lorna surrendered to the passion he aroused. His hands and mouth were creating havoc with her senses, disturbing her all anew. She whispered his name over and over.

When he finally responded to her wordless urging and moved onto her, she felt a second of panic under the weight of him, but the warmth of his mouth reassured her that she had nothing to fear. And the coupling became very natural and right, mutually desired and gloriously satisfying.

Yet, when it was over and Lorna was resting in the crook of his arm, trying to breathe normally again, she sensed something hadn't been as it was before. There was a part of him that Benteen hadn't given her. He'd held back the emotional side.

“What's wrong, Benteen?” she murmured, and let her hand glide across his curling chest hairs.

“Nothing.”

Somehow, she knew he was lying. “I wasn't really going to leave you,” she said, because it was something she had never told him in so many words. “I just wanted to hurt you, because you threw away the roses. It was childish.”

“You feel like a woman.” His hand kneaded the softness of her shoulder to confirm it.

“I'm trying to be serious,” Lorna murmured.

“I don't want to talk about it, Lorna.” His voice was flat and firm.

“But we should be honest,” she persisted. “You said it yourself.”

“You wanta be honest?” Benteen challenged, and shifted position to lie on his side, looking down at her. “Then tell me what made you decide to hide my bedroll?”

“Maybe I was afraid of losing you to some other woman,” she suggested, to see his reaction.

“Try again, but come up with a better story,” he mocked.

“You could have been with one of those dance-hall girls all day,” she insisted. “What did you do in town, besides buy me a hat? You didn't hire any trailhands.”

“I wasn't with any dance-hall girl all day.” Benteen smiled and traced his finger along her jaw. “And, if I had known I was going to get this kind of thanks for buying you a hat, I would have come back much sooner.”

“Why did you buy me the hat?” Lorna let him sidetrack her, deciding against mentioning the brass token she'd found in his bedroll.

“I hoped it would make you look more like a boy,” he admitted, and ran his finger over her lips and against her teeth. “I was going out of my mind looking at you in those pants.”

She bit his finger, not too hard, but hard enough. “That's for wanting a boy instead of your wife,” she told him.

“Maybe I could have both.” His mouth began a descent toward hers. “A wife and a son.”

“What if I want a daughter?” she asked.

“Why do you always have to disagree with me?” Benteen muttered. “We'll have a son first, then a daughter.”

“How about the other way—?” But Lorna didn't get to finish the sentence, as he closed it off with a kiss. When she did have a chance to speak again, she was too enraptured with the other pleasure to remember what she had intended to say.

From right where you're standin'

As far's you can see,

That's Calder range you're lookin' at,

And all for you and me.

When the trail herd left Ogallala, they followed the Platte River Valley into the Wyoming Territory and struck north out of Cheyenne. As long as possible, Benteen kept to routes established by previous drives that brought Texas cattle to Wyoming ranges.

Five weeks out of Nebraska they were in new country, the virgin plains that had once belonged to the buffalo. It meant Benteen had to do a lot more riding in advance of the herd, scouting terrain as much as a day or more ahead of the drive for graze, water, and safe places to ford.

Behind him, the Longhorn cattle marched onward along the great pathless solitudes. Sometimes they were strung out for nearly two miles. As Lorna found, it was tedious, harassing work to keep the weary cattle moving without hurrying them. At night she fell into bed bone-tired and snuggled against Benteen, sleeping the minute she closed her eyes.

Woolie's leg was healing, making him all the more anxious to get back in the saddle. Lorna didn't think she'd be sorry to retire her cowboy hat and let him return to the weary, monotonous toil. But she was proud of the part she played, and knew she could do it again if her help was needed.

No visible line marked the boundary between Wyoming and Montana. One evening Benteen rode into camp and announced they were in Montana; the next day they'd cross the Powder River. In two weeks they'd be pitching their final camp. Tears of relief sprang into
Lorna's eyes. The trail had seemed endless. They'd been on it four months, and in some ways it seemed like four years.

“I wish you hadn't told us how close we are,” she said to him later when they were in bed.

“Why?” He turned his head to look at her, lifting a strand of her hair to idly finger it.

“Because now I'll be impatient to get there. I'm tired of living like this,” Lorna admitted. “It wasn't so bad when I didn't know how much longer it would be. Now I just want it to be over.”

“Complaining again.” Benteen clicked his tongue in mock reproval.

“Yes, I am.” She didn't deny it.

“Just wait till we get there. You'll find it was worth all we've been through,” he promised, and pressed his mouth to her temple.

The herd crossed the Powder, Pumpkin, and Tongue rivers, and finally, the Yellowstone in the middle part of August. Less than a week after the crossing, Benteen cantered his horse back to swing alongside Lorna, riding left flank. There was a vital, eager tension about him. It gleamed in his dark eyes when he reined in beside her.

“Wanta ride ahead with me?” he asked. “I'll have Zeke cover swing and flank.”

By now the cattle were so well-broken to trail, they'd lost the urge to stray off on their own. They traveled as a unit, knowing when it was time to stop for the nooning and when to start in the afternoon. Only the drag riders had trouble yet with the laggards in the herd.

“Yes.” Lorna sensed something in the air. She knew they were close to the range Benteen had claimed, but she didn't know how close.

Easing away from the herd, they put their horses into a steady lope to make a wide pass of the herd. The land rolled out in limitless plains of thick, matted grass. Its
flatness was broken with buttes and gouged with coulees, and dominated by a lonely stretch of sky.