“Those are strong words.” Bull considered him thoughtfully.
“I’ve said them to his face.”
Bull let the comment ride and asked instead, “Would you be objecting if I stepped down and watered my horse?”
“You’re welcome to the water and the graze for your horse. You can camp here for the night if you like.” Benteen extended the hospitality of the range. Someday the situation could be reversed and he would be the one far from his home.
“You can have supper with us, Mr. Giles.” Lorna broadened the invitation.
“I’d like that. Thank you, Mrs. Calder.” He tipped his hat to her, then rode his horse to the shade of the cottonwoods and dismounted.
“He’s one of Boston’s men, Lorna,” Benteen warned in a low voice. “Don’t get friendly with him or he’ll stab you in the back.”
She thought he was being unfairly critical of Bull Giles and boldly returned his hard look. “I don’t believe Mr. Giles is anyone’s man but his own. It’s wrong for you to throw stones when you once worked for Judd Boston.”
Benteen didn’t look pleased by the comparison, but couldn’t find a logical argument against it. So he chose another subject to show his displeasure with her.
“You change into a dress as soon as the wagons get here,” he ordered, and turned away to resume staking out the bunkhouse.
When Barnie had seen her dressed this way, Benteen had only smiled, she remembered with an amused shake of her head. Because it was Bull Giles, he was reacting jealously and trying to make her feel that she was the one in the wrong for being dressed this way. And men claimed women didn’t think logically. Amusement deepened the corners of her mouth as she carried the armload of broken branches over to where Benteen was working.
The wagons arrived in the middle of the afternoon in advance of the herd. After Lorna had changed into a blue calico dress, she helped with the setting up of a permanent camp. They’d all be living out of the wagons for a couple more weeks until the buildings could be constructed.
With Benteen around, she tried not to show any interest in Bull Giles, but the attempt only made her more conscious of the man. He lent a hand with the fire and gathered more wood for it in repayment of the hospitality. His saddle and bedroll were set off to one side and his horse was hobbled and turned loose to graze.
When the herd came into sight, Benteen rode out to meet the point riders and direct the Longhorns downriver. Lorna supposed that he considered she was adequately chaperoned with Mary, Rusty, and Woolie in camp. She liked Bull Giles—as a friend—and wished Benteen could understand that.
She noticed the water barrel was low and unhooked the wooden pail from the side of the chuck wagon. “Mary,” she called to her friend. “I’m going down to the river to get some water.” She followed the custom of always letting someone know where she was going when she left camp.
The grass grew tall and thick under the trees by the river. Her long skirts swished noisily through it as Lorna made her way to the small sand bar jutting out from the bank. She had to hold them out of the way when she bent down to dip the pail into the clear running river. A school of small fish darted like quicksilver out of the shallows into deeper water.
She let the bucket sink below the surface, automatically filling with water. When she raised it, cold water sloshed over the sides, splashing on her skirt. There was a warning crunch of footsteps on the gravel bar behind her. Lorna turned sharply, spilling more water.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bull Giles apologized.
“I didn’t hear you, that’s all.” She shrugged aside the brief moment of alarm.
With typical boldness, his glance
wandered over her dress and the thick, concealing folds of its long skirt. Lorna knew he was remembering the way she had looked in pants.
“I like the dress, but I was more aware that you were a woman in those pants,” he stated with utter frankness.
“They were a necessity. The cattle spooked at my long skirt,” Lorna explained because it seemed necessary that he understand she didn’t flaunt convention without reason.
“Let me carry that bucket. It’s too heavy for you,” he insisted, and reached to take it out of her hand.
Lorna surrendered it to him, not because she wasn’t strong enough to carry it. She had hauled a lot of water during those long months on the trail. But it was the gesture of a gentleman, and she liked the way he treated her like a lady.
“Do you think you’re going to like it out here?” he asked. “It’s going to take a lot of hard work.”
“I know that.” She walked to the bank and accepted the steadying support of his hand on her arm to climb up the slippery grass.
“It’s gonna be lonely for a pretty thing like you,” Bull stated.
His remark was an instant reminder of the woman in the sod house. Her chin was pushed forward in a silent determination that this country wouldn’t do that to her.
“I’ll probably be too busy to notice that, Mr. Giles,” Lorna insisted. “As you said, it’s going to take a lot of hard work.”