Explaining Herself (18 page)

But she'd run out of time to focus on anything but how her mother had broken into a run to meet them, clearly recognizing that Victoria was alone with a ranch hand
—and riding her father's saddle.

"I'll tell you," promised Ross. "Once you know."

Victoria found the right words. Mrs. Garrison, beyond a certain waxen-faced shock upon hearing of the accident, responded with more competence than many women
—or men—might. She asked Laramie to get fresh horses so that they could return to the Lorelei at once, and she set about collecting what she might need to save her daughter.

Laramie roped and saddled horses for the ladies, chose another mount for himself from the ranch's stock, explained
—haltingly—to the foreman what had happened, and sent for Nate Dawson. Now that they knew rustlers might cross that path, they would ride with guards.

Not long after Laramie and Victoria arrived at the Circle-T, they were leaving it. Laramie rode point, then Victoria, then Mr
s. Garrison with Elise, then Au
dra. Dawson took up the rear. Duchess, the dog, tended to run ahead on the path, then double back whenever it suited her.

They arrived in the early afternoon to the sight of the doctor's horse, hitched to the porch. Ross helped Victoria down this time, despite the sharp tug in his side, and felt guilty for how much he wanted to leave his hands around
her waist, wanted to draw her
against him and hold her through this. While everyone dismounted, Laurel Pembroke rushed out of the house with what little news she had. "She hasn't woken up yet."

Laramie thought she was putting a great deal of hope in that "yet." But he'd kept silent for far worse reasons than not kicking that hope for this frightened family.

Mrs. Garrison ordered her daughters to stay downstairs
—even Mrs. Pembroke—and went up to take over the nursing duties. Then the waiting began.

Everyone except little Elise had a haunted look
— more fearful, thought Laramie, than the look of someone facing down a shotgun barrel, because this fear held increasingly less disbelief, increasingly more resignation. Whenever he and Victoria caught each other's gaze, her gray eyes begged him to say something to make it right, but of course he could not.

Not even the most eloquent words could bring comfort right now, much less his. Not without lying. And he would not lie to her about this.

The ladies distracted themselves with work, cooking and cleaning. Laramie and Dawson saw to the horses and tackle, then any other chores they could find. Thaddeas Garrison arrived, breathless and tight-mouthed, to no further news than they'd had; after briefly seeing Kitty and their parents, he made himself useful by taking Elise out to see the foals. Collier Pembroke, who'd sent the doctor ahead, returned with an attractive blond woman, a baby lying on a pillow across her lap, and Laramie learned that this was the oldest girl, Mariah MacCallum.

She left the baby with her sisters and went upstairs as well, then came down with red eyes and helped cook.

Laramie found Collier Pembroke seeing to his own
m
ount and asked, "Where should we bury the stallion?"

Pembroke looked up, his otherwise pretty features pinched. "The stallion," he repeated tightly.

Laramie hesitated to offer advice to this fancy man, a respected ranch owner, maybe nobility. But the burying had to be done, and if he could get past his guilt long enough to think about it, Pembroke would see that.

"It's a warm day."

Pembroke took a long, shuddering breath, then nodded and turned away from his sparse, English patch-saddle and pointed. "Up higher, I suppose. That stand of aspens out there, just before the land turns, if it's not too rocky. It seems fitting."

Laramie had the strangest urge to put his hand on the Englishman's shoulder, to tell him the accident wasn't his fault. All stallions were dangerous, not just wild ones, but a horse ranch couldn't exist without them. The child knew better than to get close. She'd been little, but Laramie could tell she'd been
—
was
— smart.

From the looks of that separate corral, and the extra-high rails, Collier Pembroke hadn't been negligent in the stallion's keep. He'd kept it out of kindness. He ought not be suffering for that.

Yet Laramie was just a hired hand
—and barely that. Pembroke didn't know him from Adam, and certainly had no cause to find comfort in his reassurances. So all Laramie managed was, "It'll give us something to do."

After that, throughout the afternoon, the men took turns with two shovels up on the point. First Laramie and Dawson, Laramie silently gritting his teeth against how that hurt his still-healing wounds. Then Thaddeas Garrison and Pembroke arrived, deepening the grave. Some hours later, a stocky young
man who was intro
duced as Stuart MacCallum arrived at the ranch and hiked up to join them, taking his turn at the shovel.

He seemed a good man, even for a sheep farmer.

They stopped for a midafternoon dinner, though nobody was hungry, washing up at a horse trough. God knew there was enough food. And they learned that there had been no change in Kitty's condition
— or so they thought.

Victoria surprised Laramie on the porch, drawing him around the corner of the house long enough to whisper, "The doctor wants to cut her leg off."

He didn't bother to ask how she knew that when her older siblings didn't. Instead, he stared down at her tear-bright eyes, noticed how she was clutching her middle, and wished he knew what to say to make the hurt stop for her.

He didn't have those words, so what
she
said next was an accusation. "You knew."

He shrugged, inadequately. She glared up at him, her dark hair spiraling into tight curls around her face from all that time in the hot kitchen. No matter why she'd told him, she demanded more than he'd given in response.

"It looked bad," he admitted, finally.

She bit her lower lip, still hugging herself.

"I'm sorry," he said. Then, almost against his will, he lifted his hand and drew his thumb gently across her poor, trapped lip.

Her teeth let it go. "The doctor thinks it's bad too. That's why he wants to cut it off. Mama's fighting him on it. She says that if they set it as best they can, and just keep the infection out, there are doctors in Chicago and New York who can fix it better once she's well enough to travel. But the doctor says the infection could... It could kill her. And Papa doesn't know what to do."

Tears began to slide from her eyes, down her
c
heeks, and Laramie drew his thumb across those, too. "I'm sorry."

Her shoulders began to tremble, so he put his arms around her, drew her to him tightly and surely* held her as best he could while her arms slowly fell to his side and she cried against the front of his shirt
—wet from the horse trough. He still had no words of comfort, but he hoped this somehow helped soothe her.

Strangely, it soothed him.

He lost track of how long they stood there like that, Victoria soft and tired and frightened in his arms, him doing little more than being strong and less visibly frightened and ... and
there.
The noise of the screen door slapping shut, on the porch around the corner, startled them both apart. He didn't breathe until he heard footsteps heading in the direction of the stables.

Damn! Laramie pushed a hand through his hair, angry at himself now, angry at the world. He felt suddenly cold. He had no right to be the one holding her, comforting her.

Victoria's gray eyes narrowed, as if she'd thought the same thing. But what she said was, "You'll tell my papa you mean to call on me, Ross Laramie."

He blinked at her, startled.

She wanted him to not just ask the boss, but
tell
him?

"You've been wonderful today, and I need you, but I deserve better than to hide it," she declared, swiping the back of her hand across a cheek. 'You deserve better, too."

As if she knew what he did
—or did not—deserve.

All he managed was a single, broken question. "Now?"

She laughed then. It wasn't a pretty laugh, and sent her digging for a handkerchief
—she found and gave back his spurs,
with another sniffle—but it re
lieved him some anyway. "Of course not now. Not while Kitty . . . while she ..."

He put a hand on her back and waited while she wiped at her face. Then she looked up, drier but no less determined. 'You will, though, won't you? I wouldn't ask, except I've gotten the impression you were . .. You .. ."

Who could blame her? A less observant woman than Victoria could not have missed his interest. In a different world
—one with a future, without his past— Laramie would be on Victoria Garrison's doorstep in a heartbeat. But their worlds were different. "I don't think I can."

"You never know until you ask." At least she backed off of the idea of him
telling
Garrison anything!

"I don't have ... prospects," he explained weakly.

"But you can find some."

He stared down at her, wishing he knew how to explain. If he trusted anybody with his secrets
—the promises he'd made, the sins he'd committed—he guessed it should be her.

But he wasn't sure he had the nerve to watch her face when she learned who he was.
What
he was. That he wasn't one of the good men at all.

Apparently he stayed silent too long, because Victoria said, "Oh," and turned sharply away. "Never mind."

He'd hurt her, the last thing he'd wanted to do. Panic burned in his throat, and his hand squeezed tight enough around his spurs to jab himself on the rowels. "Victoria."

But she was circling the house. "My mistake!"

And the fact that she had other, more important worries than him tonight did nothing to belie the fact that she was right.

Half right.

It had been both their mistake.

Chapter Thirteen

Vic hated being wrong, even about little things, but being wrong about Ross hurt. Maybe he
did
enjoy holding her, kissing her. But he clearly didn't intend to court her. And since he
had
kissed her, and she had kissed him, that must make her, well. . . loose.

Which was nowhere near as bad as what it made him.

She paused on the stoop outside Laurel's kitchen, hurt and confused. She'd thought she understood him, that she'd sensed a
goodness
in him, a real caring.

How could her instincts have been so wrong?

The door from the kitchen opened and Audra stepped out, her pretty face drawn with the same edge of fear the rest of the family wore. Victoria opened her arms, and they held each other. Audra was barely two years younger than she, but it seemed like a long two years.

Especially tonight
. Well-behaved Audra would never
act the way Victoria had with Ross Laramie.

"Have you heard anything?" asked the younger girl tentatively. Audra didn't normally approve of Victoria's nosy ways; clearly she was desperate.

Vic wasn't about to burden her younger sister with the doctor's dire warnings about possible gangrene and amputation. "I'm sure they'll tell us if anything important happens."

Audra nodded, trembling.

"And Mama came down to fetch supper," Victoria reminded her. "They wouldn't be eating if they thought the situation was too desperate, would they?"

"No," whispered Audra. "No. I guess they wouldn't."

Victoria gave her a squeeze and, arm in arm, they went inside to join Laurel, Elise, Mariah, and little baby Garry.

She had more important things to worry about than Ross Laramie's sincerity
—or lack thereof.

When the menfolk finally returned from burying the horse, Collier moved immediately to Laurel's side. Stuart went to Mariah, lifting little Garry from her lap into his thick, working-man arms. Thaddeas scooped Elise up and put her on his shoulders. Vic held hands with Audra.

Ross Laramie and Nate Dawson stayed out on the porch, in the late-slanting sunlight of this never-ending day. Then Papa and the doctor came downstairs and she forgot about everything else.

Papa stood behind Vic and Audra, putting a steadying hand on one of their shoulders each, while Dr. Crowley announced, "Your sister is a very lucky little girl."

The exhalations around the room were audible.

"She's awake, with no serious damage to her head or spine. That, however," he warned, "is the good news. She also has a broken arm and some broken and cracked ribs. The injury that most concerns me"
—
his gaze lifted to Papa's
—"concerns
us,
is her left leg. It is badly broken, and I fear that at the very least she may need crutches or even a wheelchair for some time. Possibly the rest of her life."