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By the time the fire was out, the fighters were filthy and staggering with exhaustion. The homesteader who’d lost his house and most of his wheat crop stood apart with his wife and children, gazing at the destruction. The woman was in tears, the little ones wailing.
Damned shame, Blake thought as he walked back toward the buggy, keeping an eye out for his brother. His eyes were red and sore from the smoke, his clothes filthy, his good boots charred. Neighbors would help the family rebuild their shack and see that they had food and clothes, but it was too late in the season to plant and harvest a new wheat crop. And no wheat to sell meant no money.
Blake had nothing against the recent settlers. Their arrival had been a boon to the town and to his family’s lumber business. The drylanders bought cheap green boards to frame their tar paper shacks, while the high-quality, seasoned lumber from the Dollarhide sawmill went to build solid homes and new businesses in the growing community.
Joe Dollarhide, Blake’s father, had seeded his fortune with his own early land grant and the wild horses he’d broken and sold in Canada. Now the family business combined land, cattle, and lumber. The lumber mill was Blake’s responsibility, and he had ambitious plans for it—new sources of timber and more efficient ways to get logs to the mill, as well as the construction business he wanted to start. In this fast-growing town, there was money to be made. And Blake was determined to rake in his share of it.
Blake’s father tended to measure his family’s wealth against the Calders, who ruled like Montana kings in their big white mansion. The Triple C had more land and more cattle than all the other ranches combined. But with the beef market in a slump, the Calders could barely afford to pay their hired help. Ranchers all around Blue Moon were having to let their cowhands go. Some, like Mason’s friend, Doyle Petit, had even sold off their grazing land to the wheat farmers.
But the Calders were different. If they were struggling financially, they refused to show it. They carried themselves with pride, gave generously to the community, and refused to complain in public or to sell so much as an acre of their land. Despite the rivalry between his father and the patriarch of the Calder family, Blake had nothing but respect for Benteen and Lorna Calder.
Their son Webb, however, was a different story—a story that had started back when Webb, the biggest boy in the one-room school they’d shared, had bullied the smaller Mason so cruelly that on some days, the younger boy would go home in tears. When Blake had tried to interfere, Webb had given him a black eye and a nosebleed. Of course, neither of the brothers told their teacher or their parents. There was nothing more shameful than a snitch.
All three were men now. Blake would bet that Webb Calder wouldn’t even remember how he’d tormented the smaller, weaker Mason. But Mason had neither forgotten nor forgiven.
Blake found Mason waiting in the buggy. He’d lost track of his half brother while the fire was raging, but the dust that coated Mason’s clothes, and his dirt-streaked face suggested that he’d been helping to shovel a firebreak.
Mason grinned. “Good thing you showed up. I was just about to drive off and leave you.”
“You know better than to do that, little brother.” Blake hauled his tired body onto the buggy seat. “But I’ll tell you what. When we get back to the saloon, I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Done. I’ve got a powerful thirst. I may need more than one.” Mason swung the team in an arc and headed the buggy back toward town. The homesteaders’ wagons departed in the opposite direction, leaving men behind to make sure the fire didn’t flare up again. Blake found himself scanning the crowd for the girl in white, but he didn’t see her. Not that it mattered. Why should it? He didn’t even know her name.
Driving back toward the road, they passed the Calder buggy. Webb was driving the matched bays, with Ruth beside him on the front seat. Benteen, looking pale and drawn, sat in the back with his wife.
Mason slapped the reins to get ahead, leaving the Calders in a cloud of dust—something Blake wouldn’t have done, but he’d long since learned that Mason had his own way about him.
“Webb was quite the hero boy today,” Mason said as he slowed the team down. “He was strutting around like the biggest rooster in the coop.”
“He did all right.” Blake didn’t much care for Webb either, but, unlike Mason, he kept his opinions to himself. The Dollarhides didn’t need enemies—especially enemies as powerful as the Calders.
“Hell, it’s not like we don’t know how to fight a fire,” Mason said. “We all knew what to do. We didn’t need Webb to boss us around. I think he was mostly doing it to impress that sodbuster’s redheaded wife.”
“The one he was dancing with.” It wasn’t a question.
“That’s right. The pretty one. Webb was all over her at the dance, and with her husband right there. If Webb had got his teeth kicked in, it would’ve served him right.” Mason maneuvered the buggy back onto the dusty, rutted road. “And poor Ruth, having to stand there and watch. Her face said it all. A classy girl like that deserves better than Webb.”
“If I could convince her of that, she could have me.”
Mason chuckled. “You and half the other single men around here. But did you see the goings-on back at the fire?”
Blake shook his head. “I guess I was in the wrong place. Or maybe I was too busy fighting the fire to notice.”
“You’d have noticed if you’d been there. It happened when the fire was almost out. As the wind changed, the fire started toward the wagons. The redhead—the wife—tried to stomp it out, and her skirt caught on fire. Webb tackled her and rolled her on the ground to put it out.”
“Was she hurt?”
“It didn’t look all that bad. But then Webb scooped her up in his arms and started for his buggy. That old man she’s married to stepped right in front of him and snatched her away. He looked mad enough to kill. And of course Ruth saw it all.”
“Ruth needs to show Webb the door and give the rest of us a chance,” Blake said.
“But she won’t. She wants to be a Calder. And she’s got Webb’s mother backing her. Hey, brother, there are other good-looking ladies out there—like that little angel with the golden braids. She’s the one I’ve got my eye on. I just need to find a way around her father.”
“Good luck with that.” Remembering those innocent eyes, Blake felt a stab of something he didn’t fully understand. The thought of Mason with that girl, winning her with his usual charm, then most likely breaking her heart, made him want to grind his teeth.
“How’s your mother?” Blake asked, changing the subject.
“Fine. Spinning her little webs as usual.” Amelia Hollister Dollarhide, Joe’s first wife, had inherited her father’s ranch and expanded it into her own empire. Blake, the son of Joe and his second wife, Sarah, was a year older than Mason. There was a story behind that incongruity. But most people either understood or knew better than to ask questions.
