Stands a Calder Man (27 page)

By the time the yellow light could be seen shining out of the shanty window, the horse and rider were blanketed with snow. When the gelding stopped at the shed door, Webb tried to dismount and ended up falling out of the saddle, his muscles too cold to function. He flung an arm over the horse's neck for support until he could get his stiff legs to move.

It was pitch-black inside the shed, but the howling wind couldn't reach them. Webb leaned against the thin wall of the shed and listened to the rustle of straw stirred by the horses and the inquiring whicker from one of the big mares. They were warm sounds. He gathered his energy and lifted a hand to his mouth, tugging off a glove with his teeth. His fingers were too numb to hold on to a match, let alone strike one to light the lantern by the door. Webb shoved the hand inside his jacket and tucked it up under his armpit to warm it.

Once the lantern was lit, he could see the two Belgian mares standing in crude stalls. The black gelding was standing patiently in the small, closed-off feed area, crusty snow covering its shaggy coat until the
animal's color was unrecognizable. The beef carcass hung eerily in a shadowed corner.

Before he could seek the warmth of the shanty, Webb had to take care of his horse. The stock saddle seemed three times as heavy when he pulled it off the horse, his cold-stiffened muscles finding it awkward to handle the cumbersome weight of it. When he had the gear stripped from the horse, he grabbed handfuls of straw and began rubbing the animal down, wiping off the icy snowcover before the horse's body heat melted it.

When the gelding was bedded down for the night, a part of Webb wanted to lie down and bury himself in the pile of straw in the corner. But there was a stronger urge that drove him out into the storm and across the intervening space to the shanty.

The storm was raging full force now, the Arctic wind blasting the air from his lungs. Although his memory told him the tar-paper shack was only twenty yards from the corral shed, the driving snow hid it from him. There wasn't even the gleam of the yellow lantern light to show him the way. Trusting his instincts, Webb forged ahead in the direction he believed it to be. In the back of his mind he knew men had gotten lost and frozen to death five feet away from their door.

The
wind howled around the one-room shanty, whistling through the smallest crack to send its piercing chill inside. Lilli stirred up the coals in the stove, trying to convince it to send out more heat to combat the increasing drafts. She walked again to the window, wearing a path into the floor, but it was impossible to see outside. Both Stefan and Webb were out there, and she didn't know which one she was worried about most.

She started back to the stove to stir the bean soup, flavored with salt pork, and make certain the coffee was hot. A blast of wind rattled the flimsy structure, threatening to blow it away. Lilli glanced apprehensively around the room, as if she expected to see some sign of damage from the battering wind. There had been other winter storms, but nothing like this. The wind was so loud she could hardly hear herself think. She knew she'd never hear anyone approaching the house in this storm.

Something fell against the door, startling her. Before she could react, the door popped open and a snowy figure lurched inside and leaned against the door to close it. An angry wind blew its icy, huffing breath into the single room and wrapped its coldness around Lilli. For an instant, the sudden invasion of frigid air held her motionless; then she was running to the snowman in the white-frosted cowboy hat.

“My God, you're frozen solid, Webb,” she declared in a murmur and began tearing at the ice-encrusted knot of his wool scarf.

His dark eyebrows and spiked lashes were completely caked with snow. Even his normally sun-browned skin looked colorless. Only the black pupils of his eyes continued to shine with life. When she pulled off his scarf, she removed his hat along with it, scattering chunks of melting snow all over herself and the floor. The buttons of his jacket were frozen in their holes. Lilli had to dig them loose with her fingers before she could get his jacket off. He appeared unable to summon the strength to object to Lilli's removing his outer garments rather than letting him do it.

“Come over by the stove.” She grabbed hold of his arm to help him and felt the coldness of it through the layers of a gray wool shirt and long-sleeved underwear. Webb managed a nod of agreement and accepted her support as he stumbled across the room on leaden legs.

When she had his shuddering body next to the stove, Lilli wrapped his hand around a cup of hot coffee, then left him to get the straw broom leaning in the comer. His pants were encased in a mixture of snow and ice.

“Stand still,” she ordered and began sweeping at him.

“Your floor is getting all wet,” he warned in a voice that cracked.

“Better to have all that snow on my floor than on you,” she replied briskly.

Something prompted her to look up from her task. The bluish tinge was gone from his mouth. The corners of it were turned upward to match the crinkling smile lines around his eyes. She felt an unexpected glow light up inside her and hesitantly returned his faint smile before brushing the last of the snow from him.

“We'd better take those boots off,” she suggested. “Your feet must feel like ice.” She dragged one of the chairs from the table so he could sit on it. “I guess you didn't find Stefan.” Her questioning glance didn't quite reach his face.

“I figure he went to Kreuger's.” Webb lowered himself onto the chair seat, the suppleness slowly returning to his muscles. “He's probably waiting out
the storm there.” At least, he hoped the man was—for Lilli's sake.

She appeared reassured by his suggestion. “He usually goes hunting with Mr. Kreuger. It's likely that he did today, too, even though he didn't mention it.” She faced him and reached out a hand. “Give me your foot.”

His boot was wet and cold, the leather stiff. It took some tugging before she succeeded in pulling it off. But she didn't stop with removing his boots. She peeled off his wool socks as well. His numbed feet tingled painfully from the shocking exposure to warm air.

Lilli took one look at his frosty white feet and reached for the basin. A kettle of water was warming at the back of the stove. She emptied it into the basin and bent down to immerse his feet in the hot water. Webb was barely able to muffle an outcry at the shooting pain that traveled through his nerves from his nearly frostbitten feet.

“You really should take those wet pants off before you catch cold,” she remarked.

Granted, he could feel their dampness through his longjohns, but Webb didn't think the situation called for such drastic measures. “I think I'll keep my pants on,” he stated dryly. “If it's all the same to you.” He arched an eyebrow at her, certain she hadn't considered her suggestion all the way through.

The faint blush that rose in her cheeks seemed to confirm it as she avoided his gaze, but her mouth stayed in a determined line. “I am a married woman, Mr. Calder, so I have seen a man in his underwear before.”

“It's back to ‘Mr. Calder,' is it?” he murmured with a trace of irritation that she had managed to destroy the sense of intimacy that had been growing.

There was no response from her as she turned away, and no further argument about the wisdom of removing his pants. “I have supper hot.” She changed the subject entirely. “Would you like something to eat? It's just bean soup—”

“That sounds fine,” Webb interrupted her before she could apologize for the plainness of the meal.

“You soak your feet in that hot water while I dish it up.” She laid his socks out to dry, steam drifting up from them.

He wouldn't have been a man if he didn't find it pleasing to be waited on by a woman, his every need anticipated. With unhurried movements, she set the table with flatware and a loaf of bread and a knife on a flat board. Two bowls of soup were dished out and placed on the table. Then she walked to the far end of the room where the bed sat and took something out of a trunk. When she came back, she handed him a towel and a pair of dry socks.

“You can wear these,” she said.

Webb held them a second, aware they belonged to her husband, then set them on his lap to wipe his feet dry. There was only one chair at the table, so he brought over the one on which he had been sitting. The melting snow from his clothes had left little puddles of water on the floor. His stockinged feet got wet when he crossed to the table, but Webb didn't mention it.

“Smells good.” He sniffed appreciatively at the thick soup and accepted the slice of bread Lilli handed him. “Thanks.” The soup was too hot to eat right away, so he dipped a corner of the bread into the liquid and ate it. “It tastes as good as it smells.”

Her only response was a brief smiling glance; then Lilli was dipping her spoon into the soup and blowing on it to cool it. The silence lengthened. Webb was irritated by it.

“Are you always this quiet at the table?” he questioned, throwing a hard glance across the table to her.

“I'm sorry.” She lowered her spoon to the table, appearing ill at ease. “It's a habit, I'm afraid. Stefan doesn't believe you should talk at the table, not while you're eating.”

“I see.” He bent his head, struggling with the grimness he felt. Then he shot another glance at her.

“Well, if you don't mind, I prefer to talk while I eat. Or do you share your husband's opinion?”

“No, it's just always been the custom in our home.” The wind picked up its fury and rattled the tar-papered sides of the shack. Lilli tensed at the noise, feeling it push at her.

“Something wrong?” Webb asked.

“I can't get used to the wind,” she admitted and dipped her spoon into the soup again. “It never seems to stop blowing out here.”

“It will get to you if you let it,” he remarked.

“How do you prevent it?” she asked with an attempt at a smile.

“Think about something else.” He shrugged.

“That's easier said than done,” she replied. “When it blows like that, I just feel so cooped up in here.”

“Cabin fever,” Webb diagnosed her ailment with a slow smile.

“What's that?” She looked at him with an interested frown.

“It's a common malady around here,” he explained. “It comes from spending too many days inside with the same four walls looking back at you all the time. The symptoms are restlessness, irritability, and melancholy.”

“I think I've come down with a bad case of it,” Lilli declared. “What's the cure?”

“I don't know of any.” Webb smiled sympathetically. “Eventually it just goes away. My mother said it used to help to have company come.”

“Yes.” She seemed to consider that thought. “It is nice to have someone to talk to.”

“Other than your husband, of course.” He wanted to bite his tongue for mentioning that.

“Stefan isn't much of a talker.” She shrugged and ate her soup.

“I gathered that,” Webb murmured dryly.

“He's a quiet, simple man, very strong and gentle.” She paused as if thinking about something. “He's changed a little in some ways since we came here.”

“Oh? In what way?” His voice attempted to conceal the curiosity her seemingly innocent remark had aroused.

“There was a time when he hated the thought of owing anyone money. But when we sold our crop this year, he didn't pay off the loan we had at the bank. He borrowed more money to buy some additional land,” she explained, then quickly defended his action. “I'm sure it will be a good investment, though.” She glanced at his nearly empty bowl, “Would you like some more soup?”

“No, this is plenty,” Webb refused and wiped the bowl clean with the crust of bread.

“I'll get you some coffee.” She pushed her chair away from the table to fetch it.

The heavy sweater made a lumpy shape of her as Webb studied the shine of red in her hair under the lantern light. The sights and sounds in the room were pleasing to him—the smell of coffee in the cup Lilli brought him, the soft swish of her skirt, and the look in her eyes that she didn't always hide.

“I could get used to having a woman do things for me.” Webb smiled as he took the cup from her.

“Most men can.” She moved to her own side of the table, poised and showing no sign that she took his remark personally. “First their mothers look after them, then their wives. Men generally don't like to do things for themselves.”

His gaze narrowed a fraction as he sensed there was something derogatory in her observation of the male sex. “I suppose some men marry for the convenience of having a wife to take care of them and satisfy their needs.”

He suspected it of a few married couples he knew. Their attitudes toward each other were in marked contrast to the special relationship between his parents. Maybe that's why he'd noticed it. Maybe that's why he hadn't been willing to take a wife, because he envied what his father had and didn't want to settle for less. He'd never thought about it much before now.

“I suppose some men do.” She suddenly seemed reluctant to share her opinions with him.

Irritation rippled in him at the way she alternated between being natural and open with him and pulling back in aloofness. “And I suppose some women marry for the convenience of having a man to take care of them and satisfy their needs.” The hard tone in his voice made it an accusation. He was immediately sorry when he saw her pale slightly.

“If a man and woman are satisfied with what they have, I don't think an outsider's opinion of their arrangement is important,” she retorted stiffly.

“Are you satisfied with what you have, Lilli?” he asked quietly.

“That is none of your business, Mr. Calder.” The anger that flared in her eyes seemed to mask pain. “I shall ignore your rudeness this time.”