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Kristin stifled a gasp. “That would be the man I met. The major.”
“That’s just what I’m thinking. He’s already here. And if the deal goes through, we’ll have a Calder right on our doorstep, gating the road, damming the creek, and doing whatever the hell Webb tells him to.”
“The bank’s closed until Monday. Maybe the major will find a different ranch to buy. Or maybe—”
“You’re grasping at straws,” Blake snapped. “Barring some miracle, the deal’s as good as done. And my only choice is to accept it or fight.”
“No!” An image flashed through Kristin’s mind—Alvar lying in a pool of blood outside the burning sawmill. “I can’t condone another range war. So help me, Blake, if you start anything like that, I’ll leave Blue Moon and never come back!”
Blake picked up his glass. “I may not have a choice,” he said.
* * *
Logan accepted the half glass of bourbon Webb offered him and took a lingering sip. “I guess I’d better make this last,” he said. “With Prohibition the law of the land, who knows when you’ll be able to get more.”
Webb grinned. “Hell, I’m not worried. I’ve got enough booze in my cellar to supply the whole damned state of Montana. And it’s not like anybody’s going to come looking for it.”
The two men stood in Webb’s spacious study after a dinner of prime beefsteak. If Webb was in a celebratory mood, it was because earlier that afternoon, Logan had told him that he’d decided to buy the former Tee Pee Ranch. The money would be wired and the deed transferred on Monday at the bank and land office in Miles City.
“Here’s to your new ranch and your new life.” Webb extended his glass. “And here’s to our new partnership.”
Partnership? Logan hesitated. There’d been no talk of any such arrangement—no money changing hands and no signing of contracts. “To our new friendship,” he corrected, raising his glass to touch the rim of Webb’s. If Webb had noticed the correction, he showed no sign of it. “For the record, I plan to return your deposit as soon as the money arrives in my account.”
The two men drank. Webb splashed more of the amber liquid into the glasses before the two men sat down in the matching leather armchairs. “So now what’s the plan?” he asked.
“You know how much work the place needs,” Logan said. “I’ll be starting as soon as the ink’s dry on the deed. So I won’t be imposing on your hospitality beyond this weekend.”
“Having you here is no imposition. As for that house, you saw the inside. The place isn’t fit for a clan of Irish goat herders. You can’t move in till it’s been cleaned and renovated.”
“During the war I lived in tents and trenches, and I shared a latrine with my whole platoon. Once I’ve chased out the rats and spiders, I can make do in the house until I get more important things done, like fencing and a new well and a barn. I packed the Model T with tools when I left the old place in Texas, but I’m going to need more, as well as horses and a wagon and plenty of lumber and nails.”
“Well, what you can’t find here in Blue Moon you can get in Miles City. That place is almost civilized—a fine hotel, good meals, and a couple of saloons.” Webb drained his glass. “With the Eighteenth Amendment passed, I don’t suppose they’ll be selling alcohol anymore—at least not in the open. But there’ll still be card games and billiard tables, and a fair class of women if you’re hankering for a good time. Or if you aren’t too fussy, the old watering hole here in Blue Moon is a restaurant now, and the owner, Jake Loman, boards a couple of his so-called nieces in the rooms upstairs.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Logan dismissed the suggestion. A meaningless tumble with a paid woman might give him a brief release; but it would do nothing to warm the frozen lump that had once been his heart. Overseas, with men dying around him, the thought of Miranda and their boys waiting for him at home was the one thing that had kept him from falling into despair. Now they were gone, and it was as if his soul had shriveled inside his body. He felt no grief, no pain, no desire. Nothing at all.
“I’ll need to hire some workers,” he said, changing the subject. “Is there anybody you’d recommend?”
“None that come to mind. But there are men home from the war who’d probably be glad for the work. Put up a notice somewhere. You’ll get plenty of help.”
“That’s fine for the fences and corrals. But when it comes to building the barn, I’m going to need at least one man who knows how to do the job. I was thinking of Lars Anderson. He’s a carpenter, and he strikes me as being honest and capable.”
“No. Not him.” Webb’s tone dripped contempt. “You know that he’s Blake Dollarhide’s father-in-law. You’d be crazy to trust any of that lot.”
When Logan didn’t reply, he continued. “Speaking of the Andersons, when are you going to talk to them about buying that land parcel next to the Triple C?”
“I’ve decided against it,” Logan said.
Color darkened Webb’s features. “Well, you’d better have a damned good reason.”
“I do. Talking to the Andersons would be a waste of time. Their oldest son is buried on that land. They’d never sell it. Not to anyone, including me.”
“Anything’s for sale at the right price,” Webb said. “Since I’ll be buying it from you, you can offer whatever it takes.”
Logan shook his head. “The Andersons lost their only remaining son on my watch. I won’t cheapen their sacrifice by pressuring them to sell their land.”
Webb’s face had gone florid. With a muttered curse, he stood and slammed his glass on the desk. “There’s something you need to understand. The Calders were the first to settle this area, and the Triple C is still the biggest ranch in the state. That means power—power you can share. But the price of our friendship is loyalty. Don’t make the mistake of forgetting that.”
Logan had stood to face him. “Webb, I appreciate all you’ve done to help me settle here. But if there’s some kind of feud going on, I don’t want any part of it. All I want is to live in peace on my land, to choose my friends and the people I do business with, and to be left alone. Is that asking too much?”
