“I can manage it.” Her hold on it tightened ever so slightly, almost in unconscious defense of her property. “It isn’t heavy.”
“I insist.” Webb reached for the woven basket, which she reluctantly surrendered into his care. “Did you buy this off the Crow squaw at the depot?”
“Yes.” He could see she was satisfied with her purchase. “She wasn’t that anxious to sell it, but it will be so useful to store things in, and decorative, too.”
Few of the settlers had brought any furniture with them except family pieces. When they owned nothing, even a woven Indian basket would seem like a lot, he supposed.
“I hope you didn’t pay what she asked,” Webb stated, aware the price was always inflated.
Her laugh was low and brief, yet with a rich vitality that was such an inherent part of the young woman. “No. I’m very good at bargaining. I always get a better price for something than Stefan does.”
It sounded like the innocent talk of sibling rivalry.
Webb let the name slide by, figuring Stefan was her brother, therefore of no interest to him.
“Our wagon is in front of the store.” She politely hinted that instead of standing in the middle of the porch talking, they should be walking to the wagon.
He shifted around to walk on the outside of her. “Yes. I noticed it there earlier,” Webb admitted and wondered if he had been purposely waiting to see her. “I guess you must have settled around here.”
“Yes, we have a place about fifteen miles west of town.”
West of town would put it near the Triple C boundary. He shot her a curious glance. “Is it anywhere near the Kreuger homestead?”
She looked at him in surprise, pausing a second before crossing the planks to the general store. “He’s our neighbor. But how did you know that? He filed on the land not more than a week ago. As a matter of fact, we only met him today.”
“It was just a guess.” Webb shrugged.
A faint crease made a mark on her forehead as she faced the front again. “I’d forgotten you work at the ranch next to Mr. Kreuger’s place.”
“How did you know that, Lillian?” A bemused curve lifted one side of his mouth. He’d used her name unconsciously and wasn’t aware he’d done something wrong until she slid him a wary side glance. “It is Lillian, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Her attitude toward him altered in some indefinable way. It was as if she were trying to pull away from him, create distance between them.
But he refused to be put off by it. He leisurely studied her profile, taking note of the sun-golden color of her skin and the faint sprinkling of freckles along her cheekbone. The worn straw hat covered most of her auburn hair, swept up and hidden inside the crown, but a few wisps curled along her neck.
“I was in Texas a few years back to bring a trainload of steers north to fatten on this grass. I saw these flowers growing wild in a ditch. They were dark orange, with black specks coming from the center of the bloom. Someone said they were called tiger lilies. That’s what you remind me of, Lilli.”
It wasn’t a deliberate attempt to flatter her, although Webb wasn’t unused to complimenting women. He usually did so out of a sense of duty, either to a saloon’s sporting lady who had given him a night’s pleasure or to the daughter of a rancher or foreman. There weren’t many respectable girls of marriageable age in the area. Most of them he’d known all his life, like Ruth. So everything about Lilli seemed new to him. She aroused his interest as few ever had.
She tried to appear unaffected by his flattering comment, remaining silent to ignore it. His pleasure in her deepened when he noticed she was stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Does anyone call you Lilli?” It struck him as being more appropriate, more of a match to her outgoing personality than the formal Lillian.
“No.” No one had ever shortened her name, not her parents nor Stefan. She wished she had seen one of those tiger lilies he’d mentioned. It was hard to picture it from his brief description. For once, she didn’t mind the trace of red in her brown hair.
When she started to climb the short set of steps leading onto the board sidewalk outside the general store, she felt the light support of his hand at her elbow. It stirred up a warm and pleasant feeling inside her. Turning her head, she gave him a full look, and she liked the raw strength in his sun-browned features.
Lillian had a vague awareness of people dawdling about in front of the store, but she was indifferent to them. It was like being in the city again, where little attention was paid to those on the sidewalks. So she missed the frowning looks given her because of the cowboy walking with her.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Webb.” He offered no more than that.
She wondered if he was spinning one around her, then smiled at such a fanciful thought. “How long have you worked for Mr. Calder?”
Turning his back to the bar, Nate Moore leaned the flat of his elbows on it and hooked a heel on the brass footrail. His beer was gone and he didn’t want to spend the money for another when he wasn’t thirsty anyhow. The billiard table offered about the only action available. His glance strayed to the far table where Benteen Calder was sitting with the big man, Bull Giles. Webb’s chair was still unoccupied. He’d left about twenty minutes ago and hadn’t returned yet. Nate supposed he’d been sent on an errand of some sort.
It was getting too quiet in the saloon to suit him. Maybe he’d go find Webb so they could liven things up a bit. He pushed away from the bar and swiveled the upper half of his wiry body to lift a farewell hand to his fellow riders.