When he reached the crude barn-shed and dismounted, the cowboys gathered around the infant like moths to a flame. In their profession, it was rare to have any contact with babies or youngsters. Lorna stood back amused to watch these hard, rough-talking men cooing and talking silly talk to the baby in Benteen’s arms. Woolie insisted Webb had the hands of a first-rate roper, while Bob Vernon claimed he could see the intelligence in the baby’s eyes, although they were closed at the time.
Lorna stepped forward to take her son when Webb started fussing. Hats were swept off the cowboys’ heads as they made room for her. The birth of the child had elevated her status from merely woman to mother. They treated her like a Madonna.
“There’s coffee on the stove,” she said to Benteen when he placed his son into her arms.
“I’ll be there as soon as I’ve seen to my horse,” he promised.
There was something in him that made him take longer at the task than he had to, as if he needed to deny himself the thing he wanted most. When he lifted the latch to the log door and pushed it open, Benteen forced an indifference to his face. The cabin appeared empty as he stepped inside. His searching glance noticed the coffeepot sitting on the iron stove that heated the small space and cooked their food.
“Lorna?”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” Her voice came from behind the cloth wall.
His footsteps were drawn to it. When he lifted it, he saw her sitting on their bed nursing their son. Her eyes widened to show him a startled expression. Color ran richly across her cheeks as she started to interrupt the baby’s feeding.
“Don’t stop if he’s still hungry.” Benteen stepped around the curtain and let it fall into place behind him.
“He’s very greedy sometimes,” Lorna murmured.
Benteen looked down on the pair. The front of her dress was unbuttoned to free the taut fullness of her breast. Little fists pushed at its roundness while a small mouth sucked vigorously on the nipple.
“I didn’t think I could stand calmly by while another male enjoyed the ripeness of your breasts,” Benteen commented.
“He’s nursing,” Lorna murmured. “It’s hardly the same.”
“I should hope not,” he said dryly, and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed beside them.
His hand reached to stroke his son’s head, then traced a finger over the swell of her breast. He unfastened a few more buttons and pushed aside her dress to expose both breasts. She breathed in when he cupped the weight of her other breast in his hand and stroked his thumb over the rose-brown nipple. He was aroused by needs long unfulfilled.
“I’m going to be envious of my son for a while,” he admitted, and she finally lifted her dark eyes to look at him. It was a wordless comment, steeped with flaring passions. There was a struggle within him before Benteen finally pushed aside his desire and drew away. “I think I’ll pour myself that cup of coffee.”
A trio of riders quietly sat their horses, poised on the crest of a hill more than a half mile from the ranch. Bull Giles pushed his hat to the back of his head and leaned on the saddle horn, studying the improvements that had been made since he’d last seen it. He looked complacently at the gaunt an
d narrow man in the middle.
“I told you Calder had the best range staked out for himself.” He felt the coldness of the light gray eyes touch him, then swing back to the scene.
“It would seem that way,” Loman Janes replied. Giles felt a rush of intolerance for the man’s icy ways. “Moore’s got the adjoining stretch of river, and Stanton’s laid claim to a section on the north. Calder’s got control of … probably six hundred square miles already.”
“Bein’ first in a fight don’t mean you’ll be standin’ when it’s over. You ought to know that, Bull.” Loman curled his lip over the words. “Calder may control the range. But who’s challenged him?”
“You’re talkin’ about Benteen Calder—not the old man,” Giles retorted.
“Ain’t you heard that sayin’—like father, like son?” The Ten Bar foreman didn’t wait for a reply as he glanced to the third rider. “Let’s ride down and say our howdies.”
The last member of the trio was a man named Trace Reynolds. He was a fair cowhand, a better tracker, and the best marksman in Texas. It was whispered that, for a price, someone could choose the target, but those kind of whispers followed any man who showed a proficiency with firearms.
Bull Giles straightened in the saddle, glad of Loman Janes’s suggestion. Lorna Calder might be a married woman, but he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Wrong or not, he wanted to see her again.
When Benteen heard Lorna come out from behind the curtain, he kept his back to her and walked to the stove to add more coffee to his cup. There was a small sound from the baby and the soft reassurance of her voice murmuring to it.
Another sound intruded as quick, striding footsteps approached the cabin door. There was a sharp knock, which Benteen didn’t want to answer.
It was immediately followed by Woolie’s voice. “There’s three riders comin’ in. One of ’em’s a big man. Looks like Bull Giles.”
Benteen pivoted, throwing Lorna a sharp glance. She was kneeling beside the cradle Zeke had made. “You stay inside,” he ordered, and walked to the door.
Before going outside, he took the gun and holster off the wall peg and buckled it on. He couldn’t say his reason for arming himself. It was sheer instinct rather than any sense of threat from Bull Giles.