Callum’s heart stop dead for a few seconds.
Ben Echohawk. Mary and Ki’s oldest son. Callum slammed his eyes shut and held his breath to keep the epitaph from spilling forth. After another minute, he threaded Butter through the trees and toward the cabin. In the moonlight, he could make out the fresh tracks made by a horse and rider and a horse-drawn buggy.
Damn it all to hell and back.
###
“Settle down, girl,” Callum said as he slipped the damp saddle blanket off of Butter’s back. “We put in a long day, didn’t we?” He caught the sound of hoof beats and glanced toward the stables’ open doors. He knew it would be Ben. Earlier that day, he’d asked Ben to come by before he headed for home.
Another soft noise reached him and he looked over the stall wall into the deeply shadowed corners. Was something or someone moving back there? A barn owl sailed from one rafter to the next, probably stirring up the mice hiding in the hay bales.
“Hey, big man,” Ben called, striding into the stables. “Did you go to that town meeting last night?”
“I was there. They griped about everyone who isn’t lily-white and Southern.”
“Figured they would.” He hooked his thumbs under his belt. “You got a bur under your saddle about something else?”
Callum swiped a brush across Butter’s back and along her sides, giving Ben a glance over his shoulder. “I do. How’d it go out there today?”
“Nothing special. You about ready to brand them?”
“Just about.” Callum tossed aside the brush and stepped out of the stall, leaving Butter to enjoy her feed. He leaned against the outside of the stall, bending one knee and propping the sole of his boot against it. “The blacksmith should have the branding irons ready by the end of the week.”
“That’ll make it easier to separate them from the ones heading for market come spring.” A long stem of buffalo grass bobbed between Ben’s lips and his dark eyes glinted in the light of the setting sun.
Callum nodded. “We’ll see how it goes.” He looked at his best friend. With his shoulder-length black hair and dark brown eyes, Ben had never had trouble attracting the ladies. His teak skin and lean physique also worked in his favor. But Ben had never been one to chase skirts. As far as Callum knew, Ben had only courted a couple of girls, a Kiowa and a Cherokee. He’d broken if off with both of them when their families had pressured him to ask for their hands in marriage. He’d told Callum once that he liked the open prairie and didn’t want to be forced into a corral.
“You going to talk or can I walk? My stomach’s growling here.”
Shoving aside his musings, Callum focused on the current courting problems Ben had dumped on him. No need to pussyfoot around it, he told himself as he gathered in a deep breath and kept his gaze fixed squarely on the man he’d known since they were barely out of nappies. “I always pegged you as someone who avoids fights and puts a lot of stock in honor.” He noted the narrowing of Ben’s eyes. “That’s why I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re screwing Eller’s wife.”
Ben’s face hardened to the consistency of stone.
“How long has it been going on?” Callum folded his arms against his chest. “You know that it has to stop. If I know about it, then it’s only a matter of time before Eller figures it out and then one of you is going to get the shit beaten out of you or even end up dead.”
“Did she tell you?” Ben yanked the buffalo grass from between his lips and tossed it aside.
Callum scoffed at that. “Lilah? Hell, no. I saw you two sneaking away from the old trapper’s cabin last night.”
Ben stared down at his boots until the silence in the stables became oppressive. “She’s a good woman, Cal. She deserves more than what she gets from him. He treats her with disrespect. She touches me deeply . . .” He rested a hand over his heart. “Deeply, Callum.”
Shaking his
Ben Echohawk. Mary and Ki’s oldest son. Callum slammed his eyes shut and held his breath to keep the epitaph from spilling forth. After another minute, he threaded Butter through the trees and toward the cabin. In the moonlight, he could make out the fresh tracks made by a horse and rider and a horse-drawn buggy.
Damn it all to hell and back.
###
“Settle down, girl,” Callum said as he slipped the damp saddle blanket off of Butter’s back. “We put in a long day, didn’t we?” He caught the sound of hoof beats and glanced toward the stables’ open doors. He knew it would be Ben. Earlier that day, he’d asked Ben to come by before he headed for home.
Another soft noise reached him and he looked over the stall wall into the deeply shadowed corners. Was something or someone moving back there? A barn owl sailed from one rafter to the next, probably stirring up the mice hiding in the hay bales.
“Hey, big man,” Ben called, striding into the stables. “Did you go to that town meeting last night?”
“I was there. They griped about everyone who isn’t lily-white and Southern.”
“Figured they would.” He hooked his thumbs under his belt. “You got a bur under your saddle about something else?”
Callum swiped a brush across Butter’s back and along her sides, giving Ben a glance over his shoulder. “I do. How’d it go out there today?”
“Nothing special. You about ready to brand them?”
“Just about.” Callum tossed aside the brush and stepped out of the stall, leaving Butter to enjoy her feed. He leaned against the outside of the stall, bending one knee and propping the sole of his boot against it. “The blacksmith should have the branding irons ready by the end of the week.”
“That’ll make it easier to separate them from the ones heading for market come spring.” A long stem of buffalo grass bobbed between Ben’s lips and his dark eyes glinted in the light of the setting sun.
Callum nodded. “We’ll see how it goes.” He looked at his best friend. With his shoulder-length black hair and dark brown eyes, Ben had never had trouble attracting the ladies. His teak skin and lean physique also worked in his favor. But Ben had never been one to chase skirts. As far as Callum knew, Ben had only courted a couple of girls, a Kiowa and a Cherokee. He’d broken if off with both of them when their families had pressured him to ask for their hands in marriage. He’d told Callum once that he liked the open prairie and didn’t want to be forced into a corral.
“You going to talk or can I walk? My stomach’s growling here.”
Shoving aside his musings, Callum focused on the current courting problems Ben had dumped on him. No need to pussyfoot around it, he told himself as he gathered in a deep breath and kept his gaze fixed squarely on the man he’d known since they were barely out of nappies. “I always pegged you as someone who avoids fights and puts a lot of stock in honor.” He noted the narrowing of Ben’s eyes. “That’s why I can’t for the life of me understand why you’re screwing Eller’s wife.”
Ben’s face hardened to the consistency of stone.
“How long has it been going on?” Callum folded his arms against his chest. “You know that it has to stop. If I know about it, then it’s only a matter of time before Eller figures it out and then one of you is going to get the shit beaten out of you or even end up dead.”
“Did she tell you?” Ben yanked the buffalo grass from between his lips and tossed it aside.
Callum scoffed at that. “Lilah? Hell, no. I saw you two sneaking away from the old trapper’s cabin last night.”
Ben stared down at his boots until the silence in the stables became oppressive. “She’s a good woman, Cal. She deserves more than what she gets from him. He treats her with disrespect. She touches me deeply . . .” He rested a hand over his heart. “Deeply, Callum.”
Shaking his
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