This Calder Range

by Janet Dailey

  He caught her hands and forced them above her head, holding her wrists easily in the shackling grip of one hand. Helpless now, Lorna turned her face from him and closed her eyes tightly. The fight went out of her as she began breathing in silent sobs and tried to shut her mind to the violation of her body.

  Yet the hand stroking her was not cruel and the hard mouth moving along the hollow of her collarbone was not brutal. He held the weight of her breast in his palm and began moistening its firm swell with warm kisses. She trembled with uncertain desire when he took the nipple into his mouth and rolled his tongue around it until it hardened to an erect nub. His teeth nibbled at it, sensuously tugging at it.

  Her breath started coming in tiny pants, reluctant with passion that might be misspent. Lifting his head, he watched his hand explore where his lips had been. His weight shifted partially off her.

  “Has he touched you like that, Lorna?” Benteen murmured.

  “No,” she moaned.

  Her wrists twisted under his pinning hold, but he wouldn’t release them. His hand began wandering over her rib cage and across the flatness of her stomach. Then he was bending to explore her navel, her toes tingling with the sensation his tongue created. He ran his hand over her naked flank, gliding to her knee and curving behind it to raise it. When his fingers began making a teasing trail along the inside of her thigh, the small sound that came from her throat was an articulate expression of aching desire.

  “Can he make you feel like this?” Benteen asked, and rubbed his mouth against the corner of her lips.

  “No. No,” she insisted, and tried to slide her mouth under his, but he avoided the attempt.

  “Tonight, Lorna,” he murmured against her throat, “I’m going to make you want me so much that you’ll never look at any other man as long as you live.”

  “I don’t want anyone else,” she whispered.

  Her hips moved against him in a silent urging. It seemed he was listening as he shifted to remove his pants with one hand but he wouldn’t release her arms. Her skin flamed with the heat of his body when she felt the nakedness of his muscled legs. She arched willingly against him, but he continued to resist giving her the satisfaction her body craved.

  With his hands and his mouth, he explored every inch of her from fingers to toes, stroking and nibbling until there wasn’t a part of her that didn’t tingle. When he finally mounted her, it was a mating of the mind, the flesh, and the soul. There was a purity to it that brought tears to her eyes and an eroticism that left her limp.

  27

  Tell me now”—Benteen tightened the arm encircling her waist—”that you can leave me and run away with Bull Giles.”

  “I couldn’t do it before, and I certainly couldn’t do it now,” she admitted, and let her hands play over his chest, now that she was finally allowed to touch him.

  “But he’s suggested it.”

  “Yes, but that’s only because of you—because he thought you were hurting me.” Lorna shifted in his hold so she could see his face.

  “Hurting you?” Benteen frowned. “What gave him that idea?”

  “The way you and Lady Crawford behave together. I saw it for myself today.” There was a trace of accusation in her voice—but only a trace. It was difficult to believe he could be having an affair with another woman after the way he’d just made love to her. Yet there was still the evidence of her own eyes.

  “Saw what?” There was a narrowing of his gaze.

  “The way she touched you. It wasn’t any different than the way Bull touched my face,” Lorna said.

  His chest lifted on a deep breath; then he was removing his arm from behind her and turning to sit up on the edge of the bed. This physical as well as mental withdrawal from her seemed to confirm what Lorna hadn’t wanted to believe.

  “Is … is she your mistress, Benteen?” She had to know.

  There was a short, heavy laugh from him, followed by a shake of his head. “No, Lorna, she isn’t my mistress.” He combed a hand through his hair. With his back to her, she couldn’t see his face. “She’s my mother.”

  “What?”

  This time, Benteen turned his head to look at her. “She’s my mother.”

  It seemed incredible. Lorna scrambled out of bed and pushed her clothes off the top of the trunk. Raising the lid, she rummaged through the contents until she found the framed picture. She stared at the young blond-haired woman with dark eyes. It was true.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” She swung around to stare at Benteen.

  “Because … I wasn’t sure if I wanted anyone to know.” Confusion etched deep lines in his face. “I hated her. You know how much I hated her.”

  She moved to the bed. “And now?”

  “Now … I don’t know what I feel.” He sighed heavily. “She’s a stranger—a fascinating stranger.”

  “Why is she here?” That sounded too blunt, too unfeeling. “I mean … she must have wanted to see you again. Is that why she came?”

  “She claims I’ve been on her mind since she saw me in Dodge City and that she wondered if we could get together again,” Benteen indicated. “She’s here, so I guess it’s true.” A faraway look entered his eyes as he stared into a dark corner. “When I was a young boy, my pa used to tell me she’d come back someday. I wanted to believe him. I used to dream about her. After a few years, the dreams became nightmares—she’d come back, promise to never leave me, then laugh and fade away while I cried for her.”

  For the first time, he’d opened a door for Lorna and let her see inside him—his anguish and his loneliness—this man who had always seemed so self-sufficient, so strong. But he had human needs, too. Lorna climbed onto the bed and knelt on the mattress.

  “Why haven’t you talked to me like this before?” she asked. “Why did you keep all this to yourself? Didn’t you think I would listen or care? I don’t understand why you haven’t let me get close to you.”

  His gaze swept slowly over her as the slashed corners of his mouth deepened in a faint smile. “Why didn’t you sit on the bed like that on our wedding night?” he countered. “It might have given me a hint of what I was letting myself in for.”

  Lorna realized she was unashamedly naked, but there wasn’t an inch of her that he wasn’t intimately familiar with. She looked again at the framed picture she was holding.

  “What does that have to do with what I asked you?” She lifted her glance to frown.

  His smile was more pronounced as he took the photograph from her and set it aside. Then his gentle hands were firmly pushing her onto the mattress while he stretched out full-length on his side, facing her, as naked as she was. His fingers reached for the face she turned toward him and trailed over her temples, pushing the tendrils of silk-brown hair aside.

  “I thought I had married a well-brought-up young lady who was warm and giving and happy. When I discovered on our wedding night that she was also passionate, I was that much more pleased by my choice,” Benteen murmured while his fingers continued to trace over her face, touching her nose and following the line of her cheekbone. “I thought I had a wife I could safely love.”

  “You aren’t making sense.” Lorna searched his velvet dark eyes and the warm expression on his angular features. The little scar near his eye stood out as a white line on sun-bronzed skin.

  “Yes, I am.” He smiled. “It wasn’t long before you began challenging me. You didn’t simply accept things the way I thought you would. You argued, you defied me. But more than that, you began crawling inside me. Instead of a tame little wife, I had a stubborn little rebel who wore man’s pants and insisted on getting involved in my life.” He let his fingertips run lightly over her lips. “Lorna Calder was a handful that I didn’t know how to handle. You can be very irritating.”

  “Not half as irritating as you can be.”

  “That’s because you were demanding too much. You started to mean too much to me. Suddenly it wasn’t safe to love you anymore. If I gave you too much of mys
elf, what would I have left? So I tried to keep some things back. I tried to fence you in, but you kept cutting the wire.”

  “Benteen Calder—building fences?” she chided the absurdity of the idea that an open-range man would put up wire. “If it’s a fence you want to build, then build it around us. Put both of us inside it, then I won’t have any reason to tear it down.”

  “Not even to get out?” he asked quietly.

  “I never should have threatened to leave you,” Lorna admitted. “That was a young girl’s foolishness. All I ever wanted was for you to love me—and to let me love you. But you wouldn’t tell me what you were thinking, feeling, or dreaming.” His hand was on her throat. She took hold of it and carried his palm to her lips. “I know your body almost as well as my own, but you haven’t let me know what’s in your heart.”

  “I love you, Lorna. One way or another, you’ve managed to leave room for little else,” he declared huskily. “God help me, but I love you.”

  When he kissed her, the world was filled with light. She murmured his name over and over against his hard lips. They were equally strong in spirit, pride, and will, forged by a land and a time that recognized only strength, but love made them unconquerable.

  Elaine studied her son with a keen interest. There was a new ease about him, a freeness of manner that hadn’t been present before. He had always projected the image of a man sure of his purpose, but now there was an added confidence.

  When he finished conferring with his foreman, he dismissed the man and crossed to the fireplace where she was standing. There was a preoccupied look to his expression, his thoughts still focusing on the discussion with the quiet, angular cowboy. Elaine didn’t pretend she hadn’t been listening.

  “I didn’t realize you were having trouble with the Indians. When did this start?” she asked.

  “We’ve always had trouble with them, but this year seems to be worse,” he admitted with an absent frown. “A couple weeks back they shot up one of my men when he caught up with them.”

  “You didn’t mention it to me.” An eyebrow was raised at this discovery. She thought he had been keeping her informed of all that went on. Obviously he still didn’t completely trust her.

  “It didn’t concern you.”

  “But it concerned you, so therefore it was of interest to me,” Elaine insisted. “So does this matter with the Indians. If you are suffering losses—”

  “Every rancher expects to lose a certain number of cattle to the Indians. It’s part of doing business,” Benteen replied.

  But he didn’t mention that he’d already lost more than the normal percentage, and the season was young. Ely had been checking with some of the other outfits, but they had hardly been bothered at all. It wasn’t logical for the Indians to pick on one ranch. There was always a chance, though, that it was just bad luck. Somehow it didn’t seem likely. Yet, if they were deliberately selecting Triple C cattle, the next question was: Why?

  “How many cattle have they stolen?” Elaine questioned.

  “I’ll know that when the roundup is finished.” He was sure the number was going to be high. “That’s where I’ll be for the next few days, so you won’t be able to contact me. Lorna and the boys are coming, too.”

  “You’re taking your wife and children? I suspected that you didn’t trust her, but I didn’t realize you felt you had to watch her every minute,” she remarked with feigned surprise. “If that’s the case, you’re better off without her.”

  “That isn’t the case,” Benteen replied evenly. “By the way, she knows we’re related.”

  “You told her?” There was a pleased note in her voice because it marked progress.

  “Yes, I told her.”

  “I’m glad.” Elaine smiled and reached out to clasp his hand. “I think she was resenting the time you spent with me, and I don’t want anything to interfere with that. I have a great many plans for the two of us.”

  Benteen studied the smooth hand that covered his. He wanted to believe the affection in her touch, but he was bothered by the possessive quality of it. That should have reassured him the gesture was genuine.

  “I’ll walk you to the buggy.” He took her hand and slipped it inside the crook of his arm.

  Slipping her hat off, Lorna let it hang by the throat strap down her back. Her gaze studied the shimmering aqua color of the pretwilight sky, pearlized by the downing sun. The smoke from the campfire drifted upward in the still air, a group of tired cowboys scattered around it. There were so many memories of the trail drive contained in the scene—the same smells, the same sounds, the same tired bodies.

  A series of discordant notes was played on the harmonica, drawing her glance to Woolie sitting crosslegged on the ground with Webb on his knee. He was patiently attempting to teach Webb to play a song on the harmonica. One of the vaqueros had whittled a wooden horse, which little Arthur was galloping over the ground.

  Her coffeecup was empty, so Lorna refilled it from the pot warming by the fire. She took a quick sip of the bitterly black coffee and wandered over by the chuck wagon, where Rusty was working. He glanced at her, taking in the cup in her hand.

  “Thought you didn’t like my coffee,” he said.

  “I guess I’ve acquired a taste for it.” She shrugged lightly and smiled.

  “It seems like old times to see you struttin’ around in a man’s pair of pants.” His glance raked the lower half of her body, a twinkle lighting his eyes. “You filled ’em out a bit more. The shirt, too. There’s no mistakin’ you for a boy anymore.”

  “I should hope not.” Her laughter was soft, not minding his teasing remarks.

  “Speakin’ of boys, those two of yours are havin themselves a high time.”

  “I know.” She cast a fond look at the two boys. “They’re convinced this roundup is being staged for their entertainment.”

  “That’s fer sure.” Rusty seemed to test the air, distracted by a watchfulness that was wakened inside of him. “It sure is still.”

  Lorna looked at the sky, clear except for some clouds on the far horizon. “I hope it doesn’t rain in the night. The boys want to sleep outside like the rest of you.” They’d brought along a tent, a small one erected on the edge of the camp circle.

  “If it does, you can always throw ’em in the cooney,” Rusty said. “They’ll stay high and dry there. Slept in it myself on many a rainy night.”

  “Don’t tell Webb that. He’ll insist on trying it out,” Lorna warned, then spied Benteen walking into camp with Ely Stanton. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  As she angled across camp, the two men stopped to talk about something. Lorna could tell by Benteen’s expression that the subject was a serious one.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked when she reached them.

  When Benteen opened his mouth to speak, she knew he was about to deny it. He held her gaze for a second; then the shutters came down.

  “So far, the tally is running about five thousand head short,” he admitted.

  The number staggered her. She knew the Indians had run off some cattle, but this was more than “some.” “Do you think the Indians are responsible?” She was incredulous. “But what would they do with that many? I thought they only stole what they needed to eat.”

  “That’s what they’ve done in the past,” Benteen said.

  “It’s for sure if they’re stealin’ to sell or trade for goods, somebody’s puttin’ ’em up to it.” Ely shook his head. “It isn’t like ’em to do things on this kind of scale. A dozen head of cattle would keep them supplied with firewater all winter, and probably a couple of warm blankets, too.”

  “Maybe it isn’t the Indians,” Lorna suggested.

  “It’s Indian sign we’ve been cuttin’,” Ely said.

  “Remember when Shorty was delirious from the fever?” Lorna turned to Benteen. “He mumbled something about a white man.”

  “I asked him about it later,” he admitted. “When he was blacking out, he thought he sa
w a white man riding with the Indians, but he was sure he had just imagined it.”

  “What if he didn’t?” she asked.

  “What white man would be riding with Indians?” Ely didn’t put much stock in the idea. “For that matter, what white man would the Indians let ride with them?”

  For a long minute his questions went unanswered. “There might be one,” Benteen offered finally with a thoughtful look.

  “Who?” Ely frowned.

  “That ex-buffalo hunter up on the Missouri that’s been trading with the Indians. His name’s Sallie. Bull Giles knows him.” The last was added absently, his mind already running ahead.

  “Bull knows him?” she repeated. Benteen had said it as if it meant something, but she didn’t see any significance in it.

  It was possible there wasn’t any, but Benteen was recalling the scene in Fat Frank’s place when the renegade’s name had first been mentioned. Bull Giles had been there with Loman Janes. Janes was the Ten Bar foreman. The Ten Bar needed water and range. In Texas, Judd Boston’s tactics had been to overstock and drift off a few head of his father’s cattle. The aim had been to put his father in a financial bind, which had ultimately worked. Was he making a similar but more subtle play here in Montana for part of the Triple C range?

  Benteen tried to dismiss the thought with a vague shake of his head. It wouldn’t work—not with the Canadian beef contract he had. This five thousand head was a substantial loss, but he could financially weather twice that number. It would merely set back his timetable of expansion. Besides, Bull Giles was working for his mother.

  “Is that coffee any good?” His arm curved naturally around Lorna’s waist. “I could use a cup.”

  “It’s Rusty’s coffee, if that answers your question.” She wasn’t concerned that he hadn’t told her what he was thinking or explained the reference to Bull Giles. The situation had changed. She was confident that, in time, he would tell her. It was Ely’s presence that had kept him silent, not hers.

  As they walked to the fire, Woolie was playing a melancholy version of “Shenandoah” to show Webb how the harmonica was supposed to sound when it was played right. When the last note wavered into the night, Webb eagerly wanted his turn. Lorna couldn’t help smiling at the way he tried so hard to copy Woolie, right down to wiggling his hand, but he was either sharp or flat and never on key.