“He’ll be there if I have to drag him out of the saloon myself,” Lorna stated with a determined gleam in her eyes.
His mouth crooked in a wry line. “Maybe it won’t be a saloon he’s in,” he suggested dryly.
“It won’t make any difference.” She moved away from his chair, recrossing the room to the table with the packages. “Do you mind if I ask you something?” She sounded too casual.
“What?” Benteen was instantly alert, prepared for almost anything.
“Is it true that Connie the Cowboy Queen had a dress embroidered with the brand of every outfit from here to the Platte?” When Lorna turned to look at him, there was a beguiling innocence about her expression that made Benteen shake his head.
“Where do you hear about these things?” Even after all these years, she still managed to surprise him now and again. Connie the Cowboy Queen had been one of the more notorious prostitutes in Miles City in its heyday.
“Women do talk about things other than sewing, cooking, and children. I promise that I looked properly shocked,” she assured him with a mocking glance. “Was the Triple C brand embroidered on her dress, Benteen?”
“How should I know?” Amusement glinted in his eyes.
But she wasn’t buying his attempt at ignorance. “A man can frequent such establishments without sampling the wares. Or maybe you just never saw her
with a dress on?” Lorna pretended to accuse him of infidelity.
“When I had more woman than I could handle at home?” Benteen countered with a lift of one eyebrow; then it straightened to its natural line. “As for the dress, there was such a thing. And it wouldn’t have been complete without the Triple C brand on it.” His gaze narrowed on her with wary censure. “I hope this isn’t the sort of thing you tell Ruth. The poor girl probably hasn’t been kissed yet.”
“No, I haven’t gotten around to discussing any intimate topics with her.” The implication was that the day was coming when Lorna would. Turning sideways to keep Benteen within her vision, she began untying the strings around the packages. “I’m certain Ruth is more than a little in love with Webb.”
“Is that why you’re going to make sure he comes to dinner tonight—and why Ruth is going to wear her new pink dress?”
Lorna paused to gaze wistfully into space. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our son and Mary’s daughter eventually married?” She barely controlled a sigh as she resumed the opening of her parcels. “It seems only fitting to me.”
“I wouldn’t hold out much hope.” Benteen bolted down the half-jigger of whiskey in his glass in an effort to burn out the sour taste in his mouth. “You’ll probably have about as much success trying to marry Webb off to Ruth as I’ve had trying to turn him into a rancher—which is zero.”
“You’re too impatient.” Lorna gave him a mildly critical look. “You grew up in a different time, under different circumstances, so you can’t judge Webb by your life.”
The glass was abruptly set on the table next to the chair as Benteen pulled his feet under him and pushed upright. “Maybe that’s the problem,” he declared grimly. “I haven’t been hard enough on him. I’ve let you spoil him.”
“Me?” She stiffened at the challenging statement.
But Benteen was following the thought through aloud while he prowled restlessly around the sitting room. “Everything’s been handed to him since the day he was born. He’s been fussed over, coddled—the center of attention. Everyone’s always smoothing the way for him. He’s never had to fight for anything in his life.”
“That isn’t true.” Lorna’s maternal instinct rose with a rush as she confronted Benteen and forced him to stop his pacing. “Just look at how hard Webb has worked to earn the respect of the other riders. He’s never let them treat him any differently because he’s the boss’s son.”
“Why doesn’t he work that hard to earn my respect?” Benteen insisted, his dark brows puckering together in a wistful line. “I can buy a dozen cowboys as good as Webb is at working cattle for thirty dollars a month and found. I don’t need another workhorse in harness; I need someone who can hold the reins.”
“Give him time,” Lorna argued.
“There isn’t that much left.” He sighed and turned away from her. Defeat was tugging at his shoulders, but he kept them squared. “He doesn’t give a damn about the ranch.” He was beginning to believe that.
“Yes, he does.” Her voice was steady, firm in its conviction. “It’s his home.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” He wished he hadn’t brought up the subject. Long, stiff strides carried him to the table, where he crushed out the cigar. “I’d better shave and get washed up for dinner.”
Before he’d taken two steps toward the adjoining bedroom, there was a knock at the door. He paused, waiting to find out who was outside, while Lorna walked to the door, the exaggerated bustle of her dress wig-wagging huffy signals at him.
“Hello, Mother,” Webb greeted her as the door swung inward. A gentleness softened the hard edges of his raw-boned features, giving them a warmth of expression they usually lacked.
“Webb.” For an instant, Lorna faltered in surprise and sent a darting glance over her shoulder at Benteen, hoping Webb’s arrival on the heels of their discussion wouldn’t precipitate a second and, perhaps, angry one. She didn’t like being caught in the middle, her loyalties divided between husband and son.
The ease went out of Webb’s expression as his gaze traveled past her to his father. The atmosphere seemed thick with tension, strong undercurrents running between his parents.
“Come in, Webb,” his father stated in a voice that sounded grimly resigned. “Your mother and I were just talking about you.”