“Like hell it doesn’t!” Benteen towered beside the bed. “You are a Calder, and that makes it my business, too!” His hands came out of his pockets to thrust a finger at Webb. “Nobody shoots my son—nobody shoots one of my riders—that I don’t take a personal interest in the reason!”
“It had nothing to do with the ranch.” Webb sank tiredly against the pillows; the argument was costing him what little strength he had.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s personal or business,” his father insisted. His mouth was compressed in a tight line as he waited for a response and didn’t get it. “The man who brought you here claimed he caught you with his wife.” He challenged Webb to deny the information. When the denial didn’t come, he was forced to demand, “Is that true?”
A silence ran through the room before the simple, one-word answer was given. “Yes.”
“By God, you’d better have more of an explanation than that.” His father’s voice vibrated. The line of his jaw stood out, muscles harshly clenched. “How could you become involved with a married woman?”
“I love her.” His candor touched Lorna, but it didn’t sway Benteen at all. “I would have taken her away from him if I could.” Webb didn’t expect his father to understand, so he wasn’t disappointed by his reaction.
“You weren’t raised to take what belongs to another man,” his father condemned him in hoarse anger.
“Benteen, I think you’d better leave.” Lorna came between them, confronting her husband with a determined look he had seen before. “You found out what you wanted to know. The rest can wait until later, when Webb is stronger.”
“How can you defend him?” he challenged.
“He’s my son, and he’s your son,” she countered without hesitation. “Right now, he’s too weak to lift his head, let alone take on you.” She faced him squarely, not giving an inch. “I mean it, Benteen. Leave the room.”
“All right,” Benteen conceded grimly. “I’ll wait until he’s out of that bed.”
He turned on his heel and walked briskly from the room. Lorna waited until the door had closed behind him before shifting her attention to Webb.
No matter how much he had been prepared for his father’s anger, it still added to his broken despair. His memory of the shooting was laced with an unreality that didn’t quite make anything clear, even less reveal how he had survived. He guessed Lilli had somehow kept Reisner from killing him. Lilli. What had happened to her? He damned the wound that had taken his strength.
When he saw the sadness and regret in his mother’s expression, he sighed tiredly and aggravated the fiery pain in his side. “Don’t apologize for him, Mother,” he said. “I expected it.”
She combed her fingers through his hair in a loving gesture and smoothed it away from his forehead. “She is the young woman who was injured at the fire,” she guessed, and Webb nodded his head, not surprised by his mother’s astuteness. “I thought so,” she murmured and changed the subject. “We’ve had all your things brought over from the bunkhouse. You’re going to stay here in your old room where we can take care of you.” She ran her hand over his scratchy beard and tried to smile. “You need a shave, but first some rest, I think.”
“I am tired,” he admitted.
His mother started to leave his side, then turned back. “Webb,” she began, “I know your father seemed unnecessarily harsh, but remember—his mother ran away with another man when he was a boy. I thought he’d gotten over it, but. . .” She hesitated. “He knows what that did to his father. It’s hard for him to accept that his own son would deliberately try to break up a marriage.”
No reply was necessary as his mother left the room. Webb stared out the window at the polar-blue color of the sky. It was a detail of his father’s past that he’d forgotten. His mother had told him of it, but it was something his father never discussed.
His pain-troubled mind didn’t dwell on that thought long. Soon the color of the sky was conjuring up images of Lilli and the incredible blue of her eyes. “If he laid a hand on you because of me, Lilli, I swear I’ll kill him,” Webb muttered, already drifting into the blackness of exhaustion.
That evening, Barnie Moore came to The Homestead, ostensibly to report on the effects of the storm, but he was tired of the waiting and speculating. He’d known Chase Benteen Calder since they were both wild pups, and his son Nate was Webb’s best friend. Others might not dare to question the continuing silence from The Homestead, but Barnie wasn’t one of them.
A fire crackled in the den’s huge fireplace. The tongues of flames licking over the logs were the objects of Benteen’s brooding attention as he sat in a leather-covered chair, a twin to the one Barnie occupied.
“On the whole, the herds have fared pretty well,” Barnie said, wrapping up his discourse on the subject. “So far, the winter kill is running light.”
“Good,” Benteen grunted, but it seemed to be a response given automatically without being aware of what was said.
“How’s the boy doin’?” Barnie started out with a safe inquiry.
“He’s regained consciousness. You know that.” Benteen slid him a short glance, aware the word had gotten around. Barnie confirmed it with a nod. “He’s weak as a baby. It’ll take him some time to get back on his feet.”
“I figured that.” Barnie struck a match and carried it to the tailor-made cigarette, cupping the flame to the tip and looking across at Benteen. “I expect he was strong enough to tell you how he got shot.”
With a flash of irritation, Benteen pushed to his feet and approached the fireplace. “It was an accident.”
Barnie managed to blow out the smoke he inhaled before he choked on it. “An accident?”
“He was cleaning his rifle and it accidentally discharged,” Benteen snapped at Barnie’s skeptical response. “It happens all the time.”
“And the knot on his head? I suppose he got that when he fell,” Barnie doubted, and was even more convinced when he saw the bunching muscles on Benteen’s back, signaling a controlled anger.