Robin Lee Hatcher (15 page)

“Yes, I suppose they shall.”

Ellen’s color deepened. “You’re no better than I. Northrop would have married me if he could. If not for you, I’d be living at Rosegate as his wife. No one would look down their noses at me then.”

Anna lowered her voice. “You’ve paid an enormous price, haven’t you? I am sorry for you. I’m sorry for us both.” She glanced toward the workshop, certain the dressmaker and her seamstresses stood just out of sight, straining to hear the exchange between Northrop Vanderhoff’s women. “Mrs. Davenport?”

The dressmaker appeared almost instantly.

“I’ve decided on the yellow silk after all. Please have the dress sent to Rosegate when it’s finished.” She glanced once more at Northrop’s beautiful mistress. “Good afternoon, Miss Prine.”

As the shop door closed behind her, Anna wondered if she would have the nerve to wear the yellow gown. Then she decided she didn’t care. She’d bought it. That was all that mattered to her at the moment.

It was time Remington sent his telegram to Northrop. The longer he stayed, the deeper he would wound Libby, letting her think there might be more between them than a few kisses. It wasn’t fair to either of them. He needed to go into Weiser right away, and it didn’t matter to him that travel by horseback would be painful for his leg. It was more painful staying where he was. Each time he and Libby were together, the weight of his betrayal grew heavier in his heart.

His decision made, Remington was on his way to find Libby when a wagon carrying a man and a woman entered the yard. A moment later, Libby came out of the barn and hurried toward them.

“Lynette. Pete.” She greeted them with a smile, the first smile Remington had seen her wear in two days. “It’s good to see you.”

The woman returned Libby’s smile. “Pete’s going into Weiser for supplies. I thought I’d come by for a visit, if I won’t be in your way. Pete can pick up anything you need while he’s there.”

“Of course you won’t be in the way. I’d love some company.” Libby glanced at Pete. “Thanks for the offer, but there isn’t anything we need.”

Remington stepped forward into the morning sunlight. “I could use a ride into town.”

All eyes turned in Remington’s direction.

“This is Mr. Walker,” Libby said as he came toward them. “He . . . he’s been helping me around the place.”

The man on the wagon seat leaned down, holding out his hand toward Remington. “Howdy. I’m Pete Fisher,
and this is my wife, Lynette.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He shook Pete’s hand. “Would you mind if I came along? I need to send a telegram.”

“Don’t mind at all. In fact, I’d be glad for the company. It’s a long trip into town. We won’t be back until nightfall, more’n likely.”

“Thanks.” Remington glanced at Libby. Her eyes were filled with a love she didn’t try to hide. He hardened his heart to it. “I’ll get my hat.”

Lynette Fisher leaned against the side of the house and took a sip from the glass she held in her hand. “That boy has grown half a foot since the last time I saw him,” she said as she watched Sawyer playing with Ringer. “You’ve taken real good care of him, Libby.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Lots of folks would’ve sent him to an orphanage. You’ve become a mother to him.”

Libby smiled. “I
feel
like his mother. I love him very much.”

“And what about that Mr. Walker?”

Libby’s gaze dropped to the glass she held between her two hands.
I love him, too.

“I thought maybe that’s how it was,” Lynette said softly.

“Is it so obvious?”

Lynette patted Libby’s knee. “I’ve loved Pete for over twenty years. I know a woman who feels the same about her man when I see her.”

“I wish you were wrong.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s not going to stay. He’s got a place in Virginia. He’ll have to return there soon.”

“What’s wrong with you going to Virginia with him?”

I don’t think he wants me.
She swallowed her pain and said, “The Blue Springs is my home.”

“That’s how I felt about leaving Iowa. That’s where I grew up. It’s where I met and fell in love with Pete. It’s where we had our first farm.” Her voice grew quiet. “It’s where our only child is buried.” She looked once again at Sawyer, playing with his puppy in the yard. “But Pete had a yearning to come west, so I came with him. We made this our home. I’ve never been sorry for that.” Her gaze returned to Libby. “You could do the same.”

But you weren’t hiding from anyone. You didn’t have to
worry about what your father might do if he found you.

She was safe at the Blue Springs. Her father’s detectives hadn’t found her here. She remembered only too well her narrow escapes from Manhattan. Chicago. St. Louis. San Francisco. His detectives had tracked her to each of those cities.

But they hadn’t tracked her to Idaho. They hadn’t found the Blue Springs.

What if Remington wanted to marry me and take me to
Sunnyvale? Would I go then?

Hope lightened her heart, but truth swiftly dashed it. Her father wouldn’t let something as trivial as marriage stop him from taking her back to Manhattan. She’d known him to destroy men’s fortunes for little or no reason. He would do the same to Remington. He might even do something worse.

No, she couldn’t leave the Blue Springs. Not even if Remington asked her to—and he hadn’t asked her.

Sadly she gave her head another shake. “I don’t think he’ll ask me to go with him, so it doesn’t matter if I’d be willing or not.”

She took a sip of the tea in her glass, feeling trapped for the first time since she’d arrived in Idaho.

Northrop opened the front door of the fashionable house, located a few blocks from his office. A maid appeared to take his hat and walking stick.

“Tell Ellen I want to see her in the drawing room.”

“Missus Prine isn’t at home, sir.”

“Not at home?” He fixed a displeased glare on the girl. “Where is she?”

“I . . . I don’t know, sir.”

“It’s Thursday. She knows I come for lunch on Thursday.”

“Yes, Mr. Vanderhoff.”

He headed toward the drawing room. “Then send the boys down to see me.”

“Right away, sir.”

Northrop went to the sideboard, lifted the top from a decanter, and poured himself a brandy. Glass in hand, he turned and swept his gaze over the room, noting the thick carpets on the floor, the large oil paintings with gilded frames on the walls, the groupings of upholstered chairs and sofas. The room was alive with color, very different from the somber tones of Rosegate. He’d never been sure how he felt about Ellen’s decorating, but since he came to see her only two times a week, three at most, it didn’t seem important enough to ponder for long.

The door to the drawing room opened, and Northrop turned to watch as his sons entered.

Cornelius, at twelve, was the taller of the two. He’d inherited his father’s auburn hair, although Northrop’s had long since turned stone gray. Unfortunately the boy inherited little else from either his father or his mother. Cornelius was a remarkably homely boy, thin as a rail, and meek. Nothing could make Northrop angrier than seeing his elder son shrinking back whenever Northrop raised his voice. At least Cornelius didn’t seem to be dim-witted.

Ward, who would have his tenth birthday in two weeks, was quite the opposite of his brother, though no more gratifying. Short and brawny, with a face that was almost too handsome, he had a quick temper and an even quicker fist. He was led by his emotions rather than his head, a constant source of irritation for his father.

“You wanted to see us, sir?” Cornelius asked as the brothers stopped, side by side, just inside the doorway.

“Yes. Come in and sit down.” Northrop pointed to a couple of chairs. As soon as they obeyed, he strode across the room to stand in front of them, clasping his hands behind his back. “Boys, I have decided it is time for you to leave this house and attend boarding school. As you know, you are my sons, but I am not married to your mother. You no doubt have been called names by your schoolmates. While the circumstances of your birth are not your fault, it is the truth, and people shall try to make you suffer because of it. But money can make people forget many things. You may be illegitimate, but you shall be rich if you do as I tell you.”

Cornelius’s face grew sickly pale. Ward’s turned beet red.

“I will not have sons who grow up hiding behind their mother’s skirts. You must get out into the world, fight your own battles.” Northrop fixed Ward with a harsh gaze. “And you must fight with your head”—he pressed his index finger against his temple—“not with your fists. Do you understand me?”

Ward’s eyes narrowed and his mouth thinned into a stubborn line while Cornelius swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob.

“Ward?” Northrop prompted.

“You can’t make us leave Mother all alone.”

“You’ll do as I say.”

The boy jumped to his feet. “You can’t make us!”

Northrop’s temper flared, but he kept a tight rein on it. What the boy needed was a man’s belt against his backside. The school he’d chosen for his youngest son would know how to administer strong disciplinary measures.

The drawing room door swung open to reveal Ellen, her face flushed. “Northrop, I’m
so sorry to have kept you waiting. I had an errand to run, but I thought I would be home before—”

“Another frock, I suppose.”

Ellen glanced toward her sons, then back at Northrop as she freed her bonnet and removed it from her perfectly coifed curls. “Mrs. Davenport sent word my gown was ready. The one I ordered last month. The blue one you liked so much.” She smiled at him, trying to hide her uncertainty. “Shall I have Cook serve our lunch?”

“In a moment. First, I must inform you of my decision about the boys. I’m sending them away to school. I have a couple of good boarding schools in mind. They should be ready to leave next week.”

“Next week? But, Northrop—”

“On second thought, tell Cook to serve lunch at once. I must return to my office.”

“Northrop, please. Can’t we talk about this?” She stepped toward him and placed the palm of one hand against his chest. She looked up at him from beneath a fan of thick eyelashes and tipped her head in a coy fashion.

It seemed Ellen would never learn that flirtation was useless in persuading Northrop to do or not do anything. Ellen was his mistress. She belonged to him, and she would do as he said or find herself penniless and homeless.

He gripped her wrist, intentionally squeezing until he saw the pain in her eyes. “No, my dear Ellen, we cannot talk about this. If you want your sons to inherit Vanderhoff Shipping, then you shall not interfere in how I choose to educate them. Is that clear?” He released her hand and turned toward the dining room. “Now, tell Cook we are ready to eat. I have work to do at the office and can’t be wasting my time here.”

Sixteen

PETE FISHER WAS A FRIENDLY fellow who seemed willing to carry the conversation in between Remington’s monosyllabic responses. Remington was glad for the distraction. By the time the two men reached Weiser, he had learned considerably more about Pete and his wife, about Amanda Blue and the Blue Springs Ranch, about Timothy Bevins, and about the folks who lived at Pine Station than he had learned in the past five and a half weeks.