With trembling hands Lorna tried to unfasten the rest of it. “What about the boys?” She breathlessly reminded Benteen of the lack of privacy, willing to let it be his decision.
“They’re sleeping.” He barely gave her time to slide the dress down her hips before his hands were tugging at the chemise that hid her breasts from him. “Get in the tub with me,” he insisted huskily.
“There’s not room for both of us. It’s too small.” She attempted to laugh at his suggestion, but the stimulating caress of hands turned it into a moaning sound.
“You just come here and I’ll show you how we can fit in it.”
It wasn’t until the next day that Benteen realized how close the fire had come to causing total devastation. The wind could have driven the fire across his entire range if they hadn’t caught it early. Instead, it had taken only a portion of the southwest section. But it had hurt him. About thirty head of cattle had been killed outright by the fire, and another two hundred of his blooded breeding stock had been burned so badly they had to be destroyed.
When the last rifle shot faded into silence, Benteen looked at the scene of an entire herd put down and felt a helpless anger. It jumped along his jawline as he turned to push his rifle into the scabbard. The barrel was still hot.
“It could have been worse,” Barnie reminded him in consolation.
“Yeah,” he admitted gruffly. “It could have been worse.” He swung into the saddle and turned the horse toward Shorty. “Make a sweep and drift the cattle into one of the other sections.”
“Want me to build another line camp?” Shorty asked. The fire had taken the one he’d been staying in, as well as his few belongings that weren’t on his horse.
“No. We’ll wait till next summer when the grass grows back.” He turned his gaze on the blackened stretch of plains. “When you’re through here, move on back to the bunkhouse.”
The sun was hanging low in the sky when he rode his horse up to the shed-corral and dismounted. His mood remained grimly somber as he unsaddled his horse to turn it into the corral. Everything had been going smoothly until his mother turned up—Lady Crawford, he corrected with curling bitterness. There had been nothing but trouble since. He shook that idea away as unreasonable. She couldn’t be blamed for Judd Boston’s attempt to have the three claims thrown out, or for the prairie fire.
There was a leadenness to his strides as he crossed the yard to the cabin. The table was all set for supper when he walked in. Lorna was at the stove, dishing up the food. She sent him a quick smile over her shoulder.
“I timed it just perfectly for a change,” she said, and carried two plates to the table for the boys.
There was a shine to her face, an eagerness that he hadn’t noticed recently. She seemed excited about something.
Benteen walked to the basin to wash his hands while she sat the boys at the table. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she replied, then added, “There’s a note on the table for you.”
Shaking the water off his hands, he partially turned to glance at the table as he groped for a towel to dry them. A small square slip of paper was on the table by his chair.
“Who’s it from?”
“Lady Crawford. Mr. Giles came by with it this afternoon.” Once she started talking, it all rushed out. “I thought it was just a note to thank us for the other afternoon, so I went ahead and opened it.”
He stiffened, pausing in the act of drying his hands. “What did it say?”
“She wrote to say that she’s staying at the Macqueen House in Miles City and asked if we would call on her Friday afternoon.”
“Is that all?” His gaze narrowed slightly to study her expression.
“Read the note.” Lorna picked it up from the table and carried it to him. “I can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t accept the invitation. We’d be going there in a month or so anyway.”
The message contained in the note was what Lorna had told him, and nothing more—with one exception. It was addressed to him.
“This isn’t a social invitation, Lorna.” Benteen folded it up and slipped it into his pocket. “She wants to speak to me on a business matter.”
“What kind of business?” Confusion clouded her eyes. “Why would she want to speak to you about it?”
“She indicated she was interested in investing some of her capital in a ranching venture,” he said, and walked past her to the table.
No more was said until Lorna had dished their plates and carried them to the table. “Are you going to meet her?” she asked.
“It depends.” He shrugged. “I might not be able to get away.”
“I think you should,” Lorna insisted. “It’s an honor that she—”