Stands a Calder Man by Janet Dailey

blanket to wait for the train.
    â€œI hope those primers I ordered for the children have arrived,” Ruth said, uncomfortable with the silence.
    He squinted his eyes against the curling smoke. Maybe he was like Nate claimed to be, not the marrying kind. There were others on the ranch, his age or younger, with children in Ruth’s school. His life was too aimless. A wife and family meant settling down and becoming his father’s man, which Webb flatly rejected. Instead of just drifting along, it was time to decide whether he wanted to stay at the Triple C or strike out on his own.
    â€œYou should get married, Ruth,” he said abruptly. “You should be teaching your own children instead of someone else’s.”
    â€œYou sound just like your mother,” she replied. “Except she said I should be teaching her grandchildren.”
    â€œThat’s not likely.” The answer came out before Webb had considered it, but it was a true feeling. He realized it said something about his intentions toward Ruth—or the lack of them. “Have you ever been to Texas?” He changed the subject, aware that she was directing her attention elsewhere to avoid looking at him.
    â€œNo, I haven’t,” Her voice sounded small. She had been waiting for Webb to notice her for so long. It seemed he had. He’d come to see her once in a while, have dinner at her house, and he had kissed her at least a dozen times. Each year, she thought it would be the one when he’d ask her to marry him. He wasn’t seeing anyone else. Lorna Calder had assured her of that.
    â€œI’ve only been there a couple of times myself. My grandparents are still living in Fort Worth, Mother keeps talking about visiting them, but . . .” He frowned and didn’t complete the sentence.
    The lonely wall of a train whistle sounded in the distance. Those waiting on the platform stirred andbegan drifting to the trackside. It was the same in the street. The arrival of the train was an event that drew onlookers to the station. It was a link with civilization for the residents of this isolated community in the middle of nowhere.
    When the train whistle blasted its approach signal again, three wagons came rattling down the street. The white-suited figure in the first wagon Webb recognized as that land promoter Wessel, but his eyes narrowed at the sight of the second man sitting on the wagon seat with him. It was Doyle Pettit from the TeePee Ranch. That day in the saloon, Doyle had talked about throwing in with the land promoter. As Webb had suspected, it hadn’t been just talk; but seeing the two of them together was another thing. When he glimpsed the drivers of the other two wagons, it was even more difficult to accept. They were longtime hands with the TeePee outfit, nearly as much parts of the ranch as Barnie Moore and Shorty Niles were at the Triple C. It didn’t set well when Webb considered these men—these cattlemen—would be driving wagonloads of nesters out to help them find land to homestead.
    â€œIsn’t that Doyle Pettit?” His father spoke from Webb’s right as the train chugged and hissed to a stop at the station. “And Charlie—and Jingles?”
    â€œYeah.” Webb faced the train rather than watch the defection of his contemporary to the other side.
    The first two passenger cars behind the freight cars were painted with signs proclaiming them to be the Northern Pacific Special. It didn’t matter where a person looked anymore. There was always a visible reminder of the drylanders. Families of them filled the special cars. Webb silently watched them pouring out to be greeted by Wessel striding into view in his eye-catching white suit. His father wore a tight-lipped expression and there was a hard gleam in his eyes.
    â€œLook at that bunch of bohunks.” The muttered words of contempt came from one of the Triple C riders. It didn’t matter which one,