Robin Lee Hatcher (16 page)

“Whoa.” Pete pulled on the reins, halting the team of draft horses in front of the telegraph office. He looked at Remington. “I’ll be over at the mercantile. I’ll wait for you there.”

Remington nodded. “I’ll be along soon.” He climbed down from the wagon, feeling stiff and sore after sitting for so long. He waited in the street until Pete drove away, then stepped onto the boardwalk. He paused again, staring at the door before him.

It’s what you came to do. Get on with it.

Dragging in a deep breath, he reached for the doorknob and, after turning it, stepped inside.

The clerk looked up from beneath his green visor. “How do. Can I help you, sir?”

“I need to send a telegram.”

The clerk slid a pencil and a piece of paper across the counter. “Write ’er down, just like you want ’er t’read.”

Remington picked up the pencil and stared at the blank paper for a moment, then began to write.

Found Olivia. Send word of your date of
arrival to . . .

He stopped and scratched out what he’d written, then began again.

Found Olivia. Meet me in Weiser, Idaho,
July . . .

Again he scratched out what he’d written.

“Some folks have a hard time gettin’ their words on paper.” The clerk set another blank sheet in front of Remington.

He nodded and tried one more time.

Found Olivia. Well and happy.

Libby was well and happy . . . but she wouldn’t be once her father arrived.

He saw her as she’d been two nights before, captured in firelight. He heard her confession.
“My father decided I
should marry a man who owned something Father wanted to
acquire. My marriage was a business deal, and he didn’t care
what sort of man he’d chosen to be my husband.”

Would she be forced to marry someone else of her father’s choosing once she returned to New York? Would Northrop barter his daughter a second time?

The thought of her being unwillingly wed to someone who might be cold or cruel caused his heart to twist. She had fought hard for her freedom. Did he have the right to strip it from her? Could he hand her back to her father for thirty pieces of silver? Of course, Remington would be paid far more than that for finding Olivia Vanderhoff, but it made his treachery no less palatable. Not now. Not now that he knew her. Not now that he’d held her in his arms and tasted the sweetness of her lips.

He crinkled the paper in his hand, wadding it into a tight ball. “Sorry,” he said to the watchful clerk. “I need to try one more time.” When he had the clean slip of paper on the counter in front of him, he wrote quickly, decisively.

No sign of Olivia in Idaho. Trail is
cold. Suggest you forego further search.
Walker.

Every word was technically true. Olivia Vanderhoff no longer existed. Only Libby Blue remained.

He shoved the paper across the counter. “Send it immediately.” He paid the clerk and left the telegraph office before he could change his mind.

Gil O’Reilly waited while the hotel clerk studied the photograph of Remington Walker. Finally the man set it on the counter and met his gaze. “Yes, I remember him. He stayed here, but it’s been some time ago. A couple of months, at least.”

“Was he sayin’ what his business was in Boise City, or where he was goin’ from here?”

“Are you a bounty hunter? Is he a murderer or something?”

O’Reilly shook his head as he let out a chuckle. “Sure and there’s no truth in that. Mr. Walker is a friend of mine, and I’ve important news for him. Trouble is, the man loves to travel and he’s not much at correspondence, so I’m not knowin’ where t’find him.”

“You might try Mr. Wilen over at the bank. Seems to me I recall Mr. Walker having supper with him one night in the restaurant.”

“I’ll be thankin’ you for your advice, sir.” O’Reilly picked up the photograph and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ll do that.”

With the sending of that telegram, Remington threw away two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. A veritable fortune. He could have had his revenge against Vanderhoff. He could have kept the promise he made in Jefferson Walker’s memory. With that money, he might have been able to buy back Sunnyvale, made it his own once more. There was so much he could have done with that money.

So why had he sent that telegram?

He pondered the question on the return trip, thankful Pete Fisher wasn’t as talkative now. The answer, of course, was simple—once he was willing to admit it. He couldn’t betray Libby. He couldn’t send her back to her father, not for any amount of money.

Because he loved her.

It seemed an impossibility, given who she was, given who he was, but it was true. He’d thought himself incapable of falling in love. Although he’d enjoyed the companionship of many women over the years, none had made him think of love, perhaps because he’d been too filled with rage and bitterness.

With her gentle nursing of his wounds, with her devotion to Sawyer, with her faith in God and hope for the future, Libby had broken through his defenses. She hadn’t only made him think of love, she’d made him feel it.

But what did that mean for them? She wasn’t really Libby Blue. Her name was Olivia Vanderhoff. Her wealthy, powerful father was looking for her. Remington couldn’t take her back to New York. What of his home there? What of his agency?

And there was the matter of his deception. Could he tell her the truth? What would she do if she knew what had brought him to the Blue Springs?

She might shoot me again.
He grinned.

But his smile faded quickly. He was afraid to tell her the truth. He was afraid that if he did, she would despise him, and he wasn’t willing to risk losing her. Not now that he’d found her. Not now that he’d found love. Perhaps one day, after they were married . . .

Married to Libby. He imagined her in all the different roles she filled—rancher, cook, housekeeper, nurse, surrogate mother to an orphaned boy—and optimism filled him. He didn’t know why, but he was certain they would work things through.

His gaze lifted to the road, and he willed the team of horses to hurry. He wanted to see Libby.

Libby waved farewell to Pete and Lynette. “It’ll be pitch black out before they’re home.” She glanced at Remington, standing beside her. “Look how late it is already.”

“Pete didn’t seem in any hurry getting back. He must not be worried about it. Besides, the moon will be up soon.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She turned toward the house. “It was good having Lynette here for a visit.”

“They seem like a nice couple.”

Libby drew a deep breath, then asked the question that had been in the back of her mind since his return. “Did you send your telegram?”

“Yes.”

“That means you’ll be leaving soon.”

“I’m in no hurry.”

A spark of hope ignited in her heart.

Remington moved to the corral fence, leaning on it as he looked at the grove of trees. “I think you ought to cut down some of those. It would give you a better view of the road. You’d know sooner when someone’s approaching.” He glanced behind him at Libby. “You mind if I do some clearing? It would only take me a couple of weeks.”

Libby’s heart quickened. A couple of weeks. At least a couple more weeks before he went away.

“No,” she whispered as she moved to stand beside him. “No, I don’t mind. If you think you’re up to it.”

He turned slowly and gazed down at her, and she was sorry for the gathering darkness. She wanted to see his eyes more clearly. And she wanted him to see what she was feeling. She wanted him to know how much she loved him.

He pushed loose strands of her hair over her shoulder, then cupped his palm around her cheek in a manner that was becoming comfortable and familiar. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, letting her emotions peak and swell, like a storm on the Atlantic.

“Of all the women in the world,” he said softly, “why is it
you
I want?”

She opened her eyes. He wanted her!

“Trust me, Libby.”

She scarcely heard him over the hammering of her heart.

His lips brushed the tender flesh near her earlobe. His touch caused gooseflesh to rise along her arm. Her heart beat erratically, and she wondered if it might stop altogether.

But she didn’t wonder for long. The thought vanished the moment his mouth moved over hers. Her legs felt weak, and she reached up with her arms and clasped her hands behind his neck, hoping to steady herself.

I love you, Remington. Stay with me forever.

She felt his fingers in her hair, felt them freeing her braid, allowing her hair to tumble down her back. All the while, his mouth continued to ply hers with deep, long kisses that made her feel as if she were melting.

I trust you. With everything I am, Remington, I trust you.

He drew his head back, although his arms still held her close. “Libby, I think we’d best turn in.” His voice sounded strained.

“But you haven’t had supper.” She didn’t want to be alone yet. She wanted him to go on holding her. She wanted him to kiss her again. She wanted him to tell her that he loved her.

“It’s best if I just go on to the bunkhouse.”

He’d said and done much the same thing two nights before, but something was different now. Libby didn’t feel rejected this time. She felt protected and cherished.

“All right,” she answered softly. “Sleep well, Remington.”

“You too, Libby.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Good night.”

Seventeen

WITH HANDS BEHIND HIS HEAD, Remington lay on his bed and watched as early morning sunlight fanned out across the ceiling. He’d been awake much of the night, his thoughts too unsettled for him to find sleep.

Before he could marry Libby, he had to settle things back east. He had to close the door on the past. He meant to return the fee Northrop paid him up front. He would have to liquidate many of his assets to do it, but he would have no need for his agency or his home in Manhattan once he married Libby. He didn’t need that life anymore. He wanted to live here at the Blue Springs. He wanted their children to be born and raised here.

Children with Libby.
He smiled, liking the notion.

He would sell the shares in Vanderhoff Shipping that he’d purchased before leaving New York City. He wouldn’t need them. For all he cared, Northrop Vanderhoff could become the richest man in the world. With Libby as his wife, Remington would be the luckiest. Once he cut the old ties, once the advance he’d received to find Libby was repaid, he could marry her with a clear conscience. Once that was done, as far as he was concerned, Olivia Vanderhoff would no longer exist. He and Libby would start fresh and new.

He thought of his father then, and for the first time in years, he didn’t feel bitterness welling in his chest. Maybe God was right. Maybe vengeance was better left in His hands.

It occurred to him that the faith wrested from him by his father’s suicide had found a place once more in his heart. It had returned stealthily, by degrees, so that he hadn’t noticed until now.

Lord, forgive me for all those wasted years.

Perhaps, he thought, it was part of God’s grace, mercy, and grand design that his love of the daughter of his sworn enemy would be what brought Remington back to the foot of the cross.