Stands a Calder Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

sweetness here and the taste was fresh and new.
    Reluctantly he drew away, although his attention stayed on the moistened curves of her lips. A gentleman didn’t indulge his baser needs on young ladies such as Ruth.
    â€œGood night, Webb,” she whispered on a note of lilting happiness.
    His gaze flicked upward to the shining light in her eyes. “Good night, Ruth,” he murmured huskily. “I guess we’ll probably be seeing you more often around The Homestead if you start teaching school there.”
    â€œYes.” She swayed slightly toward him.
    â€œYou’d better go inside,” he advised.
    Ruth continued to smile at him, not letting him out of her sight as she entered the room and closed the door. Webb stared at the closed door a second longer, then moved toward the staircase. Almost immediately her image faded into a blur, hazy around the edges, nondistinct. At the top of the steps, he passed a messenger boy from the telegraph office on the way up, probably with a reply from one of the wires that had been sent. Webb paused to light a long, narrow cigar, his side glance following the messenger down the hallway until he stopped at the door to his parents’ suite.
    Shaking out the match, Webb held it between his fingers and puffed thoughtfully on the cigar as he started down the steps. The Homestead Act had been in existence for years. His father had used it, twisting it a little, to build the Triple C Ranch to its present size. Yet he seemed to regard the proposed amendment to it as some kind of threat to the ranchland.
    Stepping out of the hotel into the crisp October night, Webb stopped and tossed the dead match into the street. He lingered there for a few minutes, wondering if the new bill might not be a benefit to the ranch by increasing the amount of land they held actual title to, then turned and walked down the street to the saloon where the rowdy group of Triple C riders had gathered.
    The door swung open just as Webb was about to reach for it. The cowboy lurching out the door nearly bumped into him, then rocked back on his heels to squint at him. The noise of loud, boisterous voices andthe heavy-handed piano playing rushed out into the night.
    â€œWhere are you goin’, Johnny?” Webb let a faint grin lighten the hard angles of his face. “The party’s just startin’.”
    The cowboy finally recognized him in the bad light and grabbed him by the arm to pull him inside. The air in the saloon was warm and stale, pungent with the smell of whiskey and beer. The smoke from cigars and cigarettes hung in layers over the long room.
    There were a few locals in the saloon crowd, but mostly it was made up of the crew from the Triple C outfit. A couple of the cowboys were swinging two of the floozies around the room—dancing, by their standards. Riders without a female partner were dancing with each other. Some were leaning against the long bar, offering their encouragement and criticism of the dancers. In the back of the saloon, a poker game was in progress.
    â€œHey, boys!” Johnny shouted, his voice slurring slightly. “Look who finally showed up!”
    Webb was greeted with a motley collection of shouts and demands to know where he’d been. Someone yelled his name from the right. His glance went in that direction just as a whiskey bottle was lobbed through the air for him. In quick reflex, he made a one-handed catch of it.
    â€œYou better get started!” Nate advised, waving a filled shot glass in a salute. “You got a lot of drinkin’ to do to catch up with the rest of us!”
    Webb pulled out the cork and raised the bottle to his mouth, tipping it up and guzzling down a couple of swallows of the fiery liquid. His action was met with cheers from the rowdy cowboys as he was swept toward the bar.
    The next morning he remembered little of what had transpired after that point. He heaved the saddle onto the back of his rangy black