Webb acknowledged the message with a curt nod of his head, but otherwise gave no sign that the news wasn’t to his liking. Like Nate, he hefted his saddle onto the top railing of the corral and used the blanket to wipe the moisture from his horse’s back. Young Shorty leaned on the fence to watch.
“Ike picked up a poster in town today. There’s gonna be a big doin’s the day after tomorrow to celebrate Independence Day.” Shorty’s eyes were alight with the news.
“Heard about it,” Webb commented with definite lack of interest.
Shorty ignored it. “There’s gonna be races an’ fireworks—even a dance.” He offered a brief list of the activities. “The only good thing them drylanders have done for this country is bring their daughters. I ain’t got no more love for those honyockers than the next man, but I don’t intend to hold nothin’ against their daughters. I’m gonna whirl them little gals right off their feet.”
Moving to his horse’s head, Webb unbuckled the cheek strap and slipped the bridle off. With a wave of the blanket, he spooked the horse away from the fence, sending it galloping to join its equine companions milling on the far side of the corral.
Nate kept one eye on Webb as he responded to Youn
g Shorty’s last remark. “You’re gonna have to stand in line to get one of them farmer gals. I think every cowboy for miles has got the same idea.”
They could have been talking in Chinese for all the notice Webb paid to their conversation. He hefted the saddle onto the back of his shoulder and spared the two of them one brief glance.
“See you later,” he said and headed for the barn to stow his gear.
Lately it seemed Webb had trouble working up emotion for anything. Even the summons to dine with his father had produced only a pale shadow of his former resentment. There had been a scant second when he had nearly been jolted out of his indifference when Nate had imparted the news about the Fourth of July celebration in Blue Moon, but he’d shut that out, too.
He guessed the dinner that night was a farewell to-do for Bull Giles. His planned month’s stay should be about over, so he’d probably be pulling out any day now. As far as Webb knew, nothing had been accomplished by the visit.
After a wash, shave, and change of clothes, Webb left the bunkhouse and headed for the big, two-story house with the pillared front that sat on the knoll overlooking the headquarters. It seemed to represent all the bigness the Calder name implied.
The low murmur of voices came from the den when Webb entered the house. Sweeping off his hat, he swung left and walked toward the sound, running his fingers through his dark hair to rid it of its flatness. As he crossed the opened doorway, he saw his mother sitting on the leather sofa in front of the huge stone fireplace. His father was at the liquor cabinet, lifting the stopper on a whiskey decanter.
“You’re just in time for a drink, Webb. What’ll it be?” his father inquired smoothly.
“Whiskey’s fine,” he replied and wandered into the room. His idle glance flickered over the massive desk and the framed map on the wall behind it. The hand-drawn map delineated the extensive boundaries of the ranch, and the desk represented the heart from which the control flowed to the farthest extremities. Webb swung his attention to his mother, smiling faintly. “Is that a new dress?”
“I’m surprised you noticed. I see you so seldom anymore.” The criticism was softened by the warmth of her smile. “Why is it we always have to issue an invitation for our son to have dinner with us?”
He shrugged at the question. “I guess you shouldn’t have raised me to be so independent.” It wasn’t an answer, merely an avoidance of the issue that had strained the relationship with his parents.
Circling around the furniture, Webb stopped in front of the fireplace. A sweeping set of horns from a Longhorn steer was mounted above the mantel. They had belonged to Captain, the old brindle steer that had led the first herd of Triple C cattle to Montana and a dozen more drives in subsequent years. There had been so much crossbreeding on the ranch that the Longhorns had virtually died out. Captain had been the last of his kind.
“I spied a yearling steer the other day carrying a long set of horns,” Webb remarked in passing as his father gave a glass of port to Lorna before bringing Webb his whiskey.
“A throwback crops up every now and then,” his father replied and returned to the cabinet for his own drink.
“I wonder what’s keeping Bull.” His mother cast a curious glance toward the open doorway.
“He’ll be down shortly.” Benteen Calder wasn’t concerned. “With that bad leg, it takes him longer to get around.”
“I suppose,” She sipped at her drink, then turned a bright look on Webb. “Speaking of invitations, have you asked Ruth to the Fourth of July festivities they’re planning in town?”
He studied his drink before downing a swallow. “No.”
“Are you going to?” his mother persisted.
“I hadn’t planned on it,” Webb replied.
“She is expecting you to ask her.”
“I haven’t given her any reason to expect that,” he countered. “As a matter of fact, I don’t have any plans to go myself. Somebody should stay behind and hold down the fort. The rest of the boys are so eager to go that I thought I’d volunteer to stay at the ranch.” Webb wasn’t sure why he was going to such lengths to justify his decision.
“Coming from you, that’s a surprise,” his father remarked dryly. It was a subtle dig at Webb’s expression of concern over the ranch being left unattended.
“Forget the ranch for a minute,” his mother impatiently interrupted to continue with her subject. “I want to know about Ruth.” The situation had drifted on an aimless course for too long. Webb was thirty. It was time for him to be thinking about marriage and a family, and making a decision about Ruth’s role in his future.