Stands a Calder Man (40 page)

When the doctor climbed out of his buggy, Webb noted the changes from an eager young doctor assuming his first practice to this overworked physician not getting to eat regularly or enough sleep. He was the only doctor for a hundred miles in any direction and the demands on him were constant. It showed in his prematurely grayed hair and eyes reddened from the lack of sleep.

“I'm sorry I had to call you out, Simon.” Webb prefaced his greeting with regret and led Dr. Simon Bardolph toward the bunkhouse. “I hope you aren't as tired as you look.”

“Hell, I'm past the point of being tired.” Simon had ceased to be awed by the Calder name. “What happened?”

“Abe Garvey was stomped pretty bad by a rank horse in his roundup string. We brought him back here and did what we could for him, then sent for you,” Webb explained as he opened the bunkhouse door. “He appears to be bleeding inside.”

“I'll take a look at him.” He entered the bunkhouse, his mind already running through the possibilities. A tired smile broke over his weary features when he recognized the blond-haired woman by the injured man's bunk. “Ah, my favorite nurse. How are you, Ruth?”

“Fine.” Her glance skipped past him to Webb, then fell quickly away.

“You really should give up schoolteaching and come to work for me, Ruth.” Simon began his examination
of the patient immediately, talking while he did so. “Lord knows, I could use the help.” He sensed her stiffness and the high tension that hovered just below her placid surface. The cause was easy to diagnose. Webb Calder. It had been obvious to Simon when she nursed Webb after that gunshot wound that she was hopelessly in love with him. Evidently the situation hadn't changed. One look at the injured cowboy advised him that he would require her help—and her undivided attention.

“Webb, why don't you clear out and leave us professionals to take care of him?” Simon suggested bluntly while the other half of his mind was practicing his profession on the patient. “And make sure there's plenty of hot coffee. I'm going to need a gallon when I'm through here.”

There was a degree of hesitation before Webb conceded his presence wasn't necessary. “I'll be over in the cookshack.”

It was better than two hours later when Simon Bardolph entered the cookshack. Webb poured him a cup of coffee and had it sitting on the long table when he sat down. The doctor rubbed his face, as if trying to push out the tiredness.

“I'd say he has better than a good chance of pulling through” was his verdict. “Whoever set that broken leg did a good job.”

“Slim and Nate did that before they loaded him in the chuckwagon to bring him back to the ranch,” Webb said. “Grizzly has a steak burned for you.”

There was a pause, followed by a short, tired laugh. “I can't remember when I ate last,” Simon declared.

“That's what I thought.” Webb motioned to the bad-tempered cook to serve up the meal. “I heard there's been a fever hitting the drylanders.” He was fishing for information about Lilli, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

“Typhoid.” When the plate was set before him, Simon picked up his knife and fork and began cutting
into the meat with little surgical precision. “It's been keeping me running from one end of the country to the other. I've tried to spread the word that everyone should boil their water before drinking it, but—” He shrugged to indicate the foolish lack of cooperation and simple laziness of some. “It's the very young and the old I'm losing.” He chewed on a bite of steak. “I'd forgotten how good food tastes,” he said thickly, not waiting until he swallowed.

“We've got plenty of food, so don't be shy about asking for seconds,” Webb offered.

“Don't have the time.” Simon talked between mouthfuls. “I've got a maternity case waiting.”

“Oh?” The sound was a question.

“Your neighbor Franz Kreuger's wife. She went into labor. If this baby follows the pattern of her others, I should arrive just in time to usher it into the world.” He sliced off another chunk of the charred meat. “To tell you the truth, I'm surprised Kreuger even sent for me.”

“Why's that?”

“He thinks there was more I could have done to save his neighbor.” He shook his head. “The man is irrational at times.”

“His neighbor. Which one was it?” Webb frowned.

“An old guy . . .” Simon wagged his fork in the air, searching for the name. “Richter . . . Richner . . . something like that.”

“Reisner. Stefan Reisner.” Webb supplied the name, surprised at how flat his voice sounded.

“That's it.” Simon nodded and stabbed another piece of meat to pop into his mouth, eating with a haste he would have warned his patients against.

“What about his wife?” Everything inside him was still, waiting.

“What about her?” The doctor didn't understand the question. “As far as I know, she's fine, if that's what you mean. But she was young and healthy, too.”

“When did this happen?” It had to have been recent, or Webb was sure he would have heard about it.

“Let's see ... he must have died two, no—three weeks ago,” the doctor decided, then sent a curious look at Webb. “Why?”

Three weeks! Everything seemed to break loose inside him. Frustration mixed with anger that Lilli hadn't attempted to let him know. It confused him, raked him with uncertainties. He pushed off the bench that paralleled the long table, unaware that he hadn't answered the doctor's question.

“Webb?” Simon sat up straighter, thoroughly confused by his behavior.

“I'll see you later, Simon.” Webb threw the remark over his shoulder, not slackening his stride as he left the cookshack and brushing past Ruth as she was coming in.

Simon Bardolph continued to stare at the door long after it had closed, trying to puzzle it out. Ruth noticed his confusion. “Is something wrong?”

His glance flicked to her blankly; then he shook his head and turned back to his food. “I guess Webb just remembered he had to be someplace.”

“Why do you say that?” She glanced toward the door, remembering that Webb had been rather brisk, but she had thought it might be left over from their last meeting.

“We were talking. He was asking me questions about Reisner's death—” he began, speaking and mulling the events over in his mind at the same time.

“Reisner.” The name came out in a quick breath. “Lilli Reisner?”

“No. Is that the wife's name?” He shrugged that it didn't matter. “It was the old man that died.” His gaze narrowed at the way the light seemed to go out of Ruth's eyes. “Would you explain to me what's going on here?”

There was a faint movement of her head in denial. “Nothing.” It wasn't her place to tell him. In any case, it was possible he'd know for himself in a short while.

She had waited so patiently, clinging to the last thread of hope. Now it was unraveling. Tears were
welling in her eyes. She excused herself quickly and escaped before the doctor saw that she was crying.

The first two weeks after Stefan's death there had been so many details to take care of, so many things to do, that Lilli had barely drawn a restful breath. The third week, it had all caught up with her and she'd practically slept the clock round. Finally her mind and body were cleared of tiredness and indecision. No more dark hollows ringed her eyes. They viewed reality with a steady gleam of determination.

A restless wind tried to lift the skirt of her russet dress, swirling it about her legs. The shawl around her shoulders was the only black garment she owned. She meant no disrespect to Stefan, but buying black material to make mourning dresses seemed a waste of what little money she had. The wind tore at the bank draft in her hand, trying to rip it from her grasp.

“I'm sorry it couldn't be more, Mrs. Reisner,” Doyle Pettit declared, respectfully holding his hat in front of him. “But with the lack of rain this year, the price of land has dropped. I had hoped for your sake that I could have sold your farm for more.”

What he neglected to tell her was that he had purchased the land himself. She had insisted on an immediate sale. So Doyle had paid the present, fair-market value of the land, confident he would double his money on it next spring. He certainly hadn't cheated her out of any profits, merely taken advantage of the situation.

“I understand.” After the bank loans had been paid and deducted, there wasn't much left. Not as much as she had hoped, certainly. She folded the bank draft into a neat square and slipped it deep into her pocket. “It was kind of you to come all the way out here to bring it to me.”

“It was no trouble, I assure you.” He used his charming smile on her and looked appropriately concerned. “What will you do now, Mrs. Reisner? It isn't a great deal of money, but naturally you'll want to invest
it wisely. I'd be more than happy to advise you on the matter.”

“I have already made plans. It should be enough to buy a small restaurant, perhaps in Butte.” Cooking was the only skill she possessed, her only means of making a living, and with all the copper mines around Butte, Montana, it sounded like a good place. Besides, it seemed sensible to leave the area and put distance between herself and foolish dreams about Webb Calder.

“Going into business for yourself, now, that's a big step, Mrs. Reisner.” Doyle Pettit had the same skeptical look in his eye that everyone else had. Men ran businesses, and women taught school or took care of the sick. “There's a great deal you need to know.”

“I have managed our household for a good number of years, Mr. Pettit. I believe I know something about purchasing supplies and paying bills.” Lilli was bristling slightly behind the smile she gave him. “But thank you for your concern.”

Not by words or action did she encourage him to stay and chat, not even to the extent of inviting him inside the shanty that was no longer hers. The man was too smooth, too well dressed, and the Model T parked a few yards away showed too little dust. There was a vanity, a self-interest, about him that made him seem superficial. As a recent widow, she probably should have been flattered by his attention and interest, but she strongly doubted it was genuine.

Doyle widened his smile and attempted to cover his confusion over this businesslike reception. He had delivered the draft and she seemed to be urging him to leave. It might have been interesting to console her. She certainly looked more attractive than she had the day she came into the bank wanting to sell the farm.

“If there's anything else I can do, Mrs. Reisner, I hope you'll contact me.” There was nothing left but to take his leave of her.

“Thank you.” She bobbed her head briefly, never
saying she would or wouldn't. The sunlight caught the rusty autumn color in her dark hair.

But he didn't hurry about leaving, turning up his collar and pulling on his gloves. “I think we're going to have an early winter. It almost smells like frost in the air.” A drumming sound came faintly to him. Doyle turned to look down the lane. A horse and rider were approaching, still too far away to identify. “It looks like someone's coming.”

As she stepped away from the windbreak of the shanty, she pulled the shawl more closely around her shoulders. There was a familiarity about the rider that seemed to trip up her pulse and send it skittering unevenly. Everything had been so settled; now her thoughts started going every which way as the rider came close enough for Lilli to be certain it was Webb.

The horse puffed to a stop beside the automobile, pricking its ears at it suspiciously, Webb sat in the saddle for a few seconds, his expressionless glance going from her to Doyle Pettit.

“Webb Calder.” Doyle recovered from his surprise to move forward to greet him. “I didn't expect to run into you out here.”

Letting the reins trail to ground-tie the horse, Webb shook the hand Doyle extended to him, a measuring look sliding to Lilli.

She was almost glad Doyle Pettit was here. It gave her time to keep her feet firmly on the ground and not be blown away by this rocking of her senses.

“I stopped by to pay my respects to . . . Mrs. Reisner.” The hesitation over the formal mode of address was small but noticeable to Lilli. “I can't say that I expected to find you here, either, Doyle.”

“I handled the sale of the farm for Mrs. Reisner. The transaction was finalized today, so I brought the draft out to her,” he explained.

There was a flicker of surprise in Webb's eyes at the news she had sold the farm before he reasoned out it was sensible. She couldn't have farmed it herself without
hiring a man. He doubted if there was enough money for that, certainly not with this year's poor crop.

“I must say, Webb, you're being very neighborly, coming by like this and all,” Doyle said.

Webb didn't try to keep his gaze from straying to Lilli. She looked so damned composed that it rankled him. Her eyes were a dark midnight blue, looking straight at him. Her lips lay together in an easy line. It was as if she were waiting for him to do something or say something.

He removed his hat, feeling awkward and not liking it. “I thought I'd come by and see if there was anything I could do.” It wasn't what she wanted to hear and it wasn't what he wanted to say. But with Doyle Pettit here, he was bound by conventions. So he prodded the man into going. “If you were leaving, Doyle, don't let me keep you.”

Doyle sent a glance at the young widow, thinking she might want him to stay. There was something in the air that he couldn't quite fathom. Her expression hadn't changed. There continued to be nothing to indicate his presence was wanted.

“I do have some business in town,” he lied. “Remember what I said, Mrs. Reisner. If I can be of any help at all, please contact me.”

“Thank you again for coming out,” she repeated.

Webb caught up the reins of his horse and held them while Doyle cranked his automobile and got it running. While his attention was elsewhere, Lilli took the opportunity to study him. The few years hadn't made any differences in his physical appearance except to add lines to the creases near his eyes and mouth. His flatly muscled body was long and male, and the wind ruffed hair that was thick and near black.