Calder Grit

Book 2: Calder Brand

by Janet Dailey

Genres: American Romance; Western Romance

Synopsis

During the summer of 1909, a battle rages in Blue Moon, Montana, between immigrant homesteaders and cattlemen determined to keep the range free. In a fierce struggle that echoes the challenges of today, history is made.
As the countryside explodes in violence, the Calder patriarch has the power to stop the destruction, though some believe Benteen Calder is only stoking the flames for his own gain. One man courageously straddles the divide …
That man is Blake Dollarhide, the ambitious young owner of Blue Moon’s lumber mill.
When Blake’s spoiled half-brother takes advantage of the innocent daughter of a homesteading family, Blake steps in as Hanna Anderson’s bridegroom to restore her honor and give her unborn child his name. But Blake doesn’t count on the storm of feelings he
develops for sweet Hanna. When the war between the factions rages anew, everyone wonders if Blake will stand by the close-knit community he serves, or the wife he took in name only …
A marriage of love is more than Hanna ever dreamed of. For her family, surviving the rugged trip west, claiming a parcel of land and planting their first crops on the vast prairie are the only things that matter. Which is why the unexpected passion she feels for her
husband is all the more poignant. But even as she longs to trust the strong bond growing between her and Blake, Hanna knows it will take courage and grit to overcome the differences between them. And even greater strength of will to put down roots in this wild new country.
The epic tale of the settling of the American West comes to vivid life in this inspiring saga of love, hope and endurance.

Release date: February 22, 2022

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 272

Sample

HANNA STOOD NEXT TO HER STERN-FACED FATHER, ONE FOOT TAPPING out the beat of the polka. Couples whirled around the rough plank floor to the music of the old-time accordion band. She would’ve given anything to join them. But Big Lars Anderson had already turned down three cowboys who’d asked to partner his daughter. Hanna would’ve said yes to any of them, just to get out there and dance. But Big Lars had made his position clear. Those rough-mannered men from the ranches, even the polite ones, weren’t fit company for an innocent girl.

As if being guarded like a prisoner wasn’t bad enough, her mother had forced her to dress like a twelve-year-old, in a white pinafore, with her long, wheaten hair in two thick braids. But even the girlish costume couldn’t hide the breasts that strained the bodice of her gingham dress. She was almost seventeen years old, with a woman’s body and a woman’s mind. When would her parents stop treating her like a child?

As the music flowed through her limbs, Hanna gazed at the deepening sky, where the sun was just setting behind the rugged Montana mountains, turning the clouds to ribbons of flame. It was so beautiful. How could she complain after such a glorious day—a celebration of America’s freedom in her family’s new home?

As she breathed in the fresh, free air, her memory drifted back to the tiny apartment in the New York slum, where she’d helped her mother tend the babies that just kept coming. Her father had worked on the docks, barely making enough to keep food on the table. When her older brother, Alvar, had turned fourteen, he’d gone to work there, too. In the desperation of those years, the American dream that had brought her parents from Sweden had been all but lost.

But then the news had traveled like wildfire through the tenements. Thanks to the passage of the new Homestead Act, there was free land out west. All they had to do was get there on the train, build a cabin, farm the land for five years, and it would be theirs, free and clear.

Now the dream had come true. Hanna’s family and their neighbors had claimed their parcels of rich Montana grassland. The fields had been plowed; the wheat was planted and growing. On the anniversary of America’s independence, it was time for friends and neighbors to celebrate an Independence Day of their own.

The festivities had begun earlier that afternoon with picnicking, races, games, and now a dance, with fireworks to end the day. It was the homesteaders, like Hanna’s family, who’d planned the event; but the whole town, as well as the folks from the big cattle ranches, had been invited. That included the woman-hungry bachelor cowboys who’d shown up hoping to dance with the daughters of the farm families.

So far, the cowboys hadn’t had much success. The immigrant fathers had guarded their girls like treasures. They wouldn’t trust rough-mannered ranch hands anywhere near their precious girls.

But the girls, even the shy ones, were very much aware of the men.

“That cowboy is looking at you.” Hanna nudged her friend Lillian, who stood on her left. Lillian, an auburn-haired beauty, was only a little older than Hanna, but she was already married, which made all the difference in the way she was treated.

The cowboy in question stood on the far side of the dance floor. He was taller than the others, with black hair and a hard, rugged look about him. Hanna knew who he was—Webb Calder, son of the most powerful ranch family in the region. And yes, he was definitely looking at Lillian.

“Does he know you?” Hanna asked.

Lillian shrugged and glanced away, but not before Hanna had noticed the color that flooded her cheeks. She was married to Stefan Reisner, a humorless man even older than Hanna’s father. Lillian wasn’t the sort to play flirting games with men. But it was plain to see that Webb Calder had made an impression on her.

As if to distract Hanna, Lillian gave a subtle nod in a different direction. “Now that cowboy, the one in the blue shirt and leather vest. He was just looking at you.”

Hanna followed the direction of her friend’s gaze. Something fluttered in the pit of her stomach as she spotted the rangy man standing at the break between the wagons that surrounded the dance floor. He was hatless, his hair dark brown and thick with a slight curl to it. His features were strong and solid, and there was pride in the way he carried himself—like a man who had nothing to prove.

But even though he might’ve been looking at Hanna earlier, he wasn’t looking at her now. His gaze scanned the dance floor and the watchers who stood around the edge. He started forward. Then, as if he’d been called away, he suddenly turned and left.

Blake Dollarhide swore as he made his way among the buggies and wagons toward the open street. The Carmody brothers, who worked at his sawmill, had been warned about picking fights with the homesteaders. But with a few drinks under their belts, the two Irishmen tended to get belligerent. If they were making trouble now, Blake would have little choice except to fire them. But before that could be done, he’d probably have to stop a fight.

With the dance on, Blake had hoped to get a waltz or two with pretty, blond Ruth Stanton, whose father was foreman of the vast Calder spread, the Triple C Ranch. It was no secret that Ruth had her eye on Webb Calder, who would inherit the whole passel from his father, Chase Benteen Calder, one day. But there was no law against Blake’s enjoying a dance with her. He might even be lucky enough to turn her head.

Taking anything away from Webb Calder would be a pleasure.

Ruth had been free for the moment. Blake had been about to cross the floor and ask her to dance when he’d heard shouts from the direction of the street. A quick glance around the dance floor had confirmed that the brothers weren’t there. Dollars to donuts, the no-accounts had started a brawl.

Blake broke into a run as he spotted the trouble. The two Carmody brothers, small men, but tough and pugnacious, were baiting a lanky homesteader who’d probably left his friends to find a privy. The confrontation was drawing an ugly crowd.

“Pack your wagon and go back to where you came from, you filthy honyocker.” Tom Carmody feinted a punch at the man’s face. “We don’t need you drylanders here, plowin’ up the grass to plant your damned wheat, spoilin’ land what’s meant for cattle. Things was fine afore the likes of you showed up. Worse’n a plague of grasshoppers, that’s what you are.”

“Please.” The man held up his hands. “I don’t want trouble. Just let me go back to my family.”

“You can go back—after we show you what we do to squatters like you.” Tom’s brother, Finn, brandished a hefty stick of kindling. Readying a strike, he aimed at the homesteader’s head.

“That’s enough!” Blake’s iron grip stopped Finn’s arm in midswing. A quick twist, and the stick fell to the ground. Finn staggered backward, clutching his wrist.

“I warned you two about this,” Blake said. “I’m sorry to lose two workers, but I can’t have you stirring up this kind of trouble. Any gear you left at the mill will be outside the gate.”

“Aw, they was just funnin’, Blake.” Hobie Evans, who worked for the Snake M Ranch, was the chief instigator against the homesteaders. He’d probably goaded the Carmody brothers into targeting the lone farmer, hoping others would join in and give the poor man a beating to serve as an example.

“Don’t push me, Hobie. This is a peaceful celebration. Let’s keep it that way.” Blake glanced around to make sure the farmer was gone and his tormentors had backed off. “Before I had to come out here, I was planning to dance with a pretty lady. For your sake, you’d better hope she’s still available.”

Blake strode back, past the wagons that ringed the dance floor, intent on seeking out Ruth. But in his absence, something had changed. Webb Calder was on the dance floor with the pretty, auburn-haired wife of one of the farmers. Ruth was on the sidelines, looking stricken.

Blake nudged the cowboy standing next to him. “What’s going on?” he muttered.

“Webb got Doyle Petit to talk the drylanders into lettin’ us dance with their women. My guess is, soon as this dance is over we can start askin’ ’em.” The young cowboy grinned. “I got my little gal all picked out—the one in white, with the yellow braids. She’s right next to that big farmer—he’s her pa. See her?”

“I see her.” Blake gave the girl a casual glance. She appeared to be a child, almost, in her white pinafore, with her hair in schoolgirl braids. But then he took a longer look and the bottom seemed to drop out of his heart. He swore under his breath. She wasn’t a child at all, but a stunning young woman with an angel’s face and a body that even the girlish pinafore couldn’t hide.

“Ain’t she somethin’?” The cowboy asked. “What do you think?”

“I think you’d better be damned fast on your feet,” Blake said. “Otherwise, somebody else might get to her first.”

Somebody like me.

As the music faded, Webb Calder escorted the pretty redhead back to her husband. A few words were exchanged. Then Webb turned back to the waiting cowboys. “All right, boys. You can invite the young ladies to dance. But remember your manners. Any Triple C boys not on their best behavior will answer to me.”

There was a beat of hesitation. Then the eager cowhands broke ranks and walked across the floor to ask the fathers’ permission to dance with their daughters. Blake had decided to hang back and let the lovestruck cowboy enjoy a dance with his dream girl. But when he looked across the floor, he saw that someone else had already claimed her.

Seen from behind, the girl’s escort was almost as tall as Blake, but a trifle broader in the chest and shoulders. He was dressed in city-bought clothes, his chestnut hair neatly trimmed to curl above the collar of his linen shirt.

Blake mouthed a curse. As usual, his half brother, Mason, had seized the advantage and run away with it.

Whirling blissfully around the dance floor, Hanna gazed up at the man who held her in his arms. The smile on his handsome face deepened the dimple in his cheek. His green eyes reflected glints of sunset.

“You looked like an angel, standing there in your white dress,” he said. “Do angels have names?”

“My name’s Hanna Anderson, and believe me, I’m not an angel,” she said. “Just ask my parents.”

He chuckled. “But you’re an angel to me because you just saved me from a very boring evening. So that’s what I’ll call you—my angel.”

Hanna had never heard such flattering talk. Who was this charming stranger? Certainly not a cowboy. He was too well dressed and too well spoken for that. “I’m Mason Dollarhide,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I run the Hollister ranch south of town. It may not be the biggest spread in Montana, but it sure is the prettiest. Almost as pretty as you.”

“Now you’re playing games with me,” Hanna said. She wasn’t a fool. But after what seemed like a lifetime of scrubbing, tending, washing, mending, working in the fields like a man, and never being made to feel attractive or desirable in any way, she let his words wash over her like the sound of sweet music.

Missing a step, she stumbled slightly. His hand, at the small of her back, tightened, drawing her so close that she could feel the light pressure of his body against hers. Heat flashed through her like summer lightning, making her feel vaguely naughty. Did he feel it, too?

“I would never play games with a precious girl like you.” His voice had thickened. “I’d wager you’ve never even been kissed. Have you?”

“That’s none of your business,” Hanna said, although she hadn’t been kissed, except by a neighbor boy when she was ten.

He chuckled. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“I just don’t like people forming ideas before they know me, that’s all,” Hanna said.

The music was drawing to a close, but his hand—smooth, with no calluses—didn’t release hers. “I’d like to get to know you better, Hanna,” he said. “Why don’t we walk a little, where we don’t have to raise our voices over the music?”

Hanna glanced back over her shoulder. Her father was talking to Lillian’s husband. Lillian was nowhere in sight. Neither was the rugged cowboy who’d danced with her. Hanna felt the gentle pressure of the stranger’s hand against her back, guiding her off the floor. She didn’t resist. Nobody would miss her if she stepped out for a few harmless minutes.

They made their way among the wagons. He stopped her next to an elegant-looking buggy that was parked outside the circle. “This is my buggy,” he said. “Get in. I’ll take you for a ride.”

He offered a hand to help her up, but she stopped him. “No. I can’t go for a ride with you.”

“But why? It’s a beautiful evening. And I’ve got the slickest team of horses in the county.”

“You don’t know my father. He’d punish me, and he’d probably find a way to damage you, too. He’s a good man, but you don’t want to cross him. Let’s just stand here and talk.”

“All right.” He nodded, leaning against the buggy. “So, is your mother here, too?”

“No, she took the wagon home early with my brothers and sisters. I wanted to stay for the dance, so my father remained with me. We were planning to ride home with a neighbor.”

“I could offer you both a ride. Maybe if he got to know me, he’d let me see you again. I’m not one of those cowhands that might take advantage of a sweet girl like you. I’ve got my own ranch—at least it’ll be mine when my mother passes away.”

“Don’t bother asking. My father would never accept.” Hanna was beginning to feel uneasy. What if her father were to catch her out here, alone with a man? “I’d better go back before he comes looking for me.”

She turned to go. Mason blocked her path. “Wait.” His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face upward. “Lord Almighty,” he murmured. “Angel, I feel like I just stepped into heaven. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hanna’s heart broke into a gallop as he bent closer. His lips were almost touching hers when an angry voice shattered the spell.

“Damn it, Mason, let that girl go. Her father’s fit to be tied. If he finds her out here with you, he’ll skin you alive!”

Hanna turned. The tall cowboy she’d noticed earlier, the one with the blue shirt and leather vest, stood a few feet away from them. “Get inside and find your father, miss,” he said. “You can claim you went to the privy. If he asks, I’ll tell him I saw you coming from that direction. Meanwhile, I need to have words with my brother, here.”

Hanna gasped, shocked that a man would mention bodily functions to her. But at least he’d come up with a good excuse for her father. Hot faced, she fled back toward the dance floor, weaving her way among the buggies and wagons. That was when a cry went up from somewhere out of sight.

“Fire!”

Turning, Hanna saw a distant column of smoke rising against the twilight sky. The prairie was burning.

“COME ON!” AS THE FLEEING GIRL VANISHED FROM SIGHT, BLAKE leaped into his brother’s buggy, yanking Mason in behind him.

“What the hell—?” Mason sputtered.

“My horse is tied at the saloon. There’s no time to get him.” He grabbed the reins and released the brake. Around them, people were piling into buggies and wagons, some already racing toward the fire.

“It’s my rig, damn it! I’ll drive!” Mason snatched the reins away and slapped them down on the backs of the two matched sorrels. The buggy shot ahead, careening around a wagonload of settlers.

A narrow column of gray smoke rose to the west—a grass fire, judging from the color. Not too big yet, Blake calculated, but in this torrid July weather the dry prairie grass could flame up like tinder. Uncontrolled, the fire would race across fields and pastures, destroying everything in its path, including animals, homes, and even human lives.

Some of the settlers looked confused, maybe not understanding what needed to be done. But when they saw the ranch folks and townspeople rushing with breakneck urgency toward the smoke, they joined in. A prairie fire was everybody’s problem.

The buggy swung off the road and cut across the open grassland, jouncing over the rough ground. Blake could see the fire now, and the burned skeleton of the tar paper shack where it must’ve started. Coming closer, he could smell the acrid smoke and hear the hiss and crackle of burning grass.

Fires didn’t start themselves. Blake had his suspicions about who’d set this one. But nothing mattered now except putting out the blaze. And with no source of water nearby, that was going to be a dangerous challenge.

By the time Mason pulled the team up behind the wagons and buggies, Webb Calder had already taken charge of fighting the fire. The men he’d ordered into a line were beating back the flames with horse blankets and anything else that could be found. Those without blankets flailed at the flames with shovels or scraped away the grass to act as a firebreak.

Grabbing a wool blanket out of the back of the buggy, Blake vaulted out and raced to join the line. The smoke reddened Blake’s eyes and stung his throat as he beat the fire’s encroaching edge. The shortness of the grass kept the flames low, but the heat was searing, the fire spreading before the wind as fast as a man could walk. The dry blankets were losing the battle with the licking flames. Only water had any chance of quenching them before the blaze burned out of control.

Now more settlers were arriving. The men and older boys jumped off the wagons to fight the fire with whatever they had.

Some of the wagons carried water barrels that had been filled in town. As Webb began shouting orders, the women on the wagons took the blankets one by one, wet them in the barrels, and returned them to the men. As Blake passed his blanket up into a waiting pair of hands, his eyes met those of the girl he’d caught with Mason—the girl with the golden braids.

Her indigo eyes were reddened from the smoke. Stray locks of hair clung to her flushed face. Her white pinafore was wet and smeared with soot from handling the charred blankets. But even so, with smoke swirling around them, Blake was struck by her innocent beauty.

For an instant, their gazes met and held. There was a flicker of recognition before she turned away, dunked the lower part of the blanket in the water barrel, and passed it, still dripping, back down to him. Grasping it, he raced back to the fire.

The water-soaked blankets made a difference, but the flames were still burning. Glancing down the line, Blake glimpsed Hobie Evans and the Carmody brothers beating at the fire. If somebody had started it, Blake’s money would be on those three. But of course they’d be here, helping, to avoid any suspicion.

Webb Calder moved up and down the lines, stepping in where help was needed. Webb’s father, Benteen, who was well into his fifties, was on the fire line, too. Overcome by smoke, he suddenly doubled over, coughing. Webb seized his father’s shoulders, guided him away from the flames, and left him with Ruth Stanton, who’d come in the buggy with Benteen’s wife. Blake was grateful that his own parents and sister had left the celebration and gone home early. His father, Joe, was younger than Benteen, but even he had begun to show his years.

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.. . .