[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

over his scratchy beard and tried to smile. "You need a shave, but first some
rest, I think."
"I am tired," he admitted.
His mother started to leave his side, then turned back. "Webb," she began,
"I know your father seemed unnecessarily harsh, but remember--his mother ran
away with another man when he was a boy. I thought he'd gotten over it, but
..." She hesitated. "He knows what that did to his father. It's hard for him
to accept that his own son would deliberately try to break up a marriage."
No reply was necessary as his mother left the room. Webb stared out the
window at the polar-blue color of the sky. It was a detail of his father's
past that he'd forgotten. His mother had told him of it, but it was something
his father never discussed.
His pain-troubled mind didn't dwell on that thought long. Soon the color of
Page 113
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the sky was conjuring up images of Lilli and the incredible blue of her eyes.
"If he laid a hand on you because of me, Lilli, I swear I'll kill him," Webb
muttered, already drifting into the blackness of exhaustion.
That evening, Barnie Moore came to The Homestead, ostensibly to report on
the effects of the storm, but he was tired of the waiting and speculating.
He'd known Chase Benteen Calder since they were both wild pups, and his son
Nate was Webb's best friend. Others might not dare to question the continuing
silence from The Homestead, but Barnie wasn't one of them.
A fire crackled in the den's huge fireplace. The tongues of flames licking
over the logs were the objects of Benteen's
brooding attention as he sat in a leather-covered chair, a twin to the one
Barnie occupied.
"On the whole, the herds have fared pretty well," Barnie said, wrapping up
his discourse on the subject. "So far, the winter kill is running light."
"Good," Benteen grunted, but it seemed to be a response given automatically
without being aware of what was said.
"How's the boy doin'?" Barnie started out with a safe inquiry.
"He's regained consciousness. You know that." Benteen slid him a short
glance, aware the word had gotten around. Barnie confirmed it with a nod.
"He's weak as a baby. It'll take him some time to get back on his feet."
"I figured that." Barnie struck a match and carried it to the tailor-made
cigarette, cupping the flame to the tip and looking across at Benteen.
"I expect he was strong enough to tell you how he got shot."
With a flash of irritation, Benteen pushed to his feet and approached the
fireplace. "It was an accident."
Barnie managed to blow out the smoke he inhaled before he choked on it. "An
accident?"
"He was cleaning his rifle and it accidentally discharged," Benteen snapped
at Barnie's skeptical response. "It happens all the time."
"And the knot on his head? I suppose he got that when he fell," Barnie
doubted, and was even more convinced when he saw the bunching muscles on
Benteen's back, signaling a controlled anger.
"Yes, I suppose he did." The clipped agreement accepted Barnie's reasoning.
"Then how do you explain how those farmers got ahold of him?" Barnie
challenged quietly.
Benteen whipped around. "How the hell should I know!" he flared. "Maybe he
took refuge at their place to wait out the storm." But he knew the explanation
had holes in it, because it didn't provide a reason for Webb's not being at
the line camp. "As far as you and everyone else is concerned, the shooting was
an accident. That's all you need to know."
Without making a reply to that, Barnie rolled slowly to his feet and walked
to the fireplace to toss the burned match into the flames. "Is it all right if
Nate comes to see him?" he asked instead.
"He's up to having visitors." Benteen nodded.
"He'll be by, then," Barnie said. "I'm glad to hear Webb's doin' better. You
know we all feel like we've had a hand in raising him."
"Yeah." Benteen wondered if that was the problem. Maybe Webb had too many
fathers. Or maybe it was his own mother's blood that ran in his son, making
him irresponsible and unprincipled. Maybe Webb was a throwback to her. It had
taken him a long time to accept his mother for what she was, but he couldn't
tolerate those traits in his son. Some hard and painful decision had to be
made.
He didn't hear Barnie leave the room.
Bare-chested, Webb stood in front of the wood-framed mirror. His middle was
bound in a wide bandage that completely encircled him, while a pair of Levi
denim pants hugged the length of his legs and hips. His face was half-covered
with shaving lather, two swaths cut through it by the razor in his hand.
His hand trembled when he raised it to make a third wipe at his beard, his
Page 114
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
arm feeling incredibly heavy. Webb cursed this frightening weakness that still
gripped him after more than a week and attempted to force his hand to carry
out its task. He felt the sting of pain as the sharp blade nicked his skin. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]