Stands a Calder Man by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page B

look at that grass—and picture wheat in your mind!”
    Nate slid a sharp glance at Webb from the wagon seat. “What the hell is he talking about?” he muttered under his breath, but clearly didn’t expect an answer as he swung off the seat to the trampled and packed ground.
    Webb took another look at the empty wagons lined up in front of the small train station. On both sides of the wagon beds, planks were laid, forming two benches to accommodate human freight. The new wood contrasted with the weathered-gray boards of the rest of the wagon and revealed how recently they had been converted to accommodate a passenger load.
    As he dismounted and tied the gelding’s reins to the back of the buckboard, he sized up the milling group of people. There were a scant few who looked like farmers, the ones with permanently sun-reddened faces. The vast majority of the group had the paleness of the city about them, but their tired faces were alive with hope. Webb realized their expression was more positive than hope. The belief was shining in their eyes that they had now been led to the Promised Land.
    My God, he thought with a mixture of amusement and anger. The poor fools don’t know what they’re gettin’ into.
    Nate was already heading for the small building that housed the office of the station agent to check on the freight for the Triple C. A handful of the newly arrived passengers had wandered to the end of the train wherethe buckboard was parked, providing Webb with a closer study of them.
    His dark gaze moved over the young girl at the vanguard of the little group, then came back to her. She stood poised on the edge of the limitless plains, facing the benchland of tall grass with its hidden coulees and flat buttes. Her chin was lifted to the wind blowing in from the land as if she were drinking in the air’s freshness, free from the city stench of smoke and congestion.
    Wisps of dark auburn hair were whipped loose from a coiled knot at the back of her head while the sun’s direct rays highlighted the fiery sheen in her dark tresses. A limp blue hat dangled by a ribboned string held in her hand and the black shawl had fallen off her shoulders. The wind flattened the faded gingham material of her dress against her slim body, showing Webb the swelling curve of high, youthful breasts and the outline of slender hips and legs.
    Vitality and excitement seemed to flow through every line of her. It was more than just her young female form that drew and held his eye. There was something else that pulled his interest and wouldn’t let it go. Without conscious direction, Webb let his course to the depot widen so he would pass closer to the girl.
    Her motionless stance was broken as she turned to took over her shoulder and search the milling group of passengers for someone, her parents more than likely, since Webb doubted that a young girl would come out here alone. Evidently she spied them, because she started to glance back at the rolling grassland, sweeping aside strands of hair that the wind blew across her face. But when she did, she noticed his approach.
    With bold curiosity, she stared at him. Her eyes seemed to take in every detail from the dusty crown of his cowboy hat to the heavy denim material of his Levi pants and the spurs riding low on his boots. Then her gaze swung upward to linger on the rough cut of his features. Montana born and raised, he unknowingly carried the print of the land on him, big and strong,with a certain harshness in the uncompromising lines of his face. His flatly sinewed chest was broad and strong, throwing an impressive shadow on the ground.
    Webb was indifferent to the impression he created. He was caught up in the blue of her eyes—as blue as the Montana sky overhead. Just like looking into the sky, he seemed able to see forever. The sensation gripped him, unnerving him a little.
    His attention had been so obvious that his sense of propriety demanded a