Robin Lee Hatcher (17 page)

Thank You, Lord. Now if You would just show me the
rest of Your plan . . .

Remington wished he could leave for New York today. The sooner he went, the sooner he could return and marry Libby. But there was much he needed to do here first.

He wanted to hire on a few extra ranch hands. They could begin clearing the trees that surrounded the ranch house and outbuildings. He didn’t want Bevins taking Libby by surprise while he was away. Then he wanted to meet McGregor. Maybe the old sheep herder could tell him what needed to be done to get the Blue Springs on a firmer financial foundation.

But he wasn’t going to worry about any of that today, he decided as he tossed aside the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Today he was going to ask Libby if she would marry him. The rest they could talk about later.

Whistling softly, he dressed and left the bunkhouse, crossing the yard and entering the back door into the kitchen. Within a short while, he’d stoked the stove, found a frying pan, and sliced bacon from the side of pork that hung from a hook in the smokehouse. Then he went
to collect eggs from the chicken coop.

Libby’s dreams throughout the night were of Reming-ton. She dreamed of lying in his arms, of his kisses, of the look in his eyes and the caress in his voice. She dreamed of him saying he loved her and wanted to stay.

A beautiful dream, and she resisted giving it up.

But the smell of sizzling bacon pulled her from the pleasant slumber. It took a moment or two to realize she wasn’t still dreaming.

She sat up and stared toward her door. Someone was cooking breakfast?

She tossed aside the bedcovers and reached for her wrapper. She slipped her feet into a pair of house shoes, then hurried out of her room and down the hall to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to stare at the unfamiliar sight.

Sawyer was setting the table with Amanda’s best plates. Remington stood beside the stove, flipping bacon in the pan and trying to avoid the splattering grease.

Sawyer was the first to see her. “Mornin’, Libby.”

Remington gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles. “Morning, Libby.” He tipped his head toward the table. “Have a seat. The coffee’s ready.” He glanced at the boy. “Sawyer, pull out the lady’s chair for her.”

“Yes, sir,” Sawyer replied with an enthusiastic grin.

Maybe she
was
dreaming. “What’s this all about?” she whispered to Sawyer.

The boy shrugged. “Mr. Walker didn’t tell me.”

Remington delivered a steaming cup of coffee, placing it on the table in front of her. “Your breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Remington, what on earth—”

He wagged a finger at her. “I’ll bet you thought I couldn’t cook anything but a simple stew.”

“Well, I—”

“At Sunnyvale, we had grits for breakfast, but I noticed the Blue Springs doesn’t stock it in their pantry.” He clucked his tongue. “Serious oversight, Miss Blue. We’ll have to remedy the situation.”

She’d never seen him like this, and she wasn’t certain how to respond.

“I hope you like your eggs scrambled.”

“Yes, I . . .” She let her sentence die as she watched him crack eggs over the hot skillet and whip them vigorously with a fork.

She resisted the urge to pinch herself. If this was a dream, she preferred to keep on sleeping. She was enjoying it too much. She liked watching Remington as he worked. She liked listening to him whistle. She liked the joyful gleam in his eyes.

“Your breakfast, mademoiselle.” Remington brandished the plate with a flourish before setting it on the table before her.

Libby stared at the fluffy mound of yellow eggs and the crisp slices of bacon and the warm bread spread with huckleberry preserves, and her mouth began to water in earnest.

“It’s wonderful.” She glanced up at him, waiting for some sort of explanation.

He didn’t give one. Instead he motioned for Sawyer to sit down, then followed suit. “Let’s bless the food, shall we?” He offered one hand to her and one to Sawyer. When the circle was complete, Remington bowed his head. “Thank You, Lord, for all the good things You’ve sent our way. Amen.” When he met Libby’s gaze again, he pointed to her plate with his fork. “Go on. Eat.”

With an amused sigh she did as she was told, taking a bite of eggs.

“Well?”

She swallowed. “They’re very good.” Then she grinned. “In fact, they’re so good, Mr. Walker, I’m willing to offer you a job as cook at the Blue Springs.”

His smile broadened. “That’s a kind offer, Miss Blue, but I think there are other jobs around here that I could do better.”

Her hand trembled as she picked up her coffee mug. Was he going to stay? Was he really going to stay?

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but she felt a sudden shyness. The words seemed too intimate for the light of day, especially in front of Sawyer.

But she soon forgot her bashfulness as Remington regaled her and Sawyer with stories from his boyhood. A joyous mood filled the kitchen and swept Libby up in it. She laughed as he detailed the pranks he’d pulled on the old servant who had cared for him, and she shook her head when he confessed some of the trouble he’d made when he was at school. Before she knew it, the kitchen was ablaze with morning sunlight, and she realized how late it was.

“Melly must be miserable. I completely forgot about her.” She started to rise from her chair.

“Wait, Libby. Let Sawyer take care of the milking this morning. We need to talk.”

She felt the weight of breakfast in her stomach as she sank back onto her chair. What was he about to tell her? Had all of this been his way of saying good-bye?

Remington jerked his head toward the back door. “Go on, Sawyer.”

“Yes, sir.”

Libby held her breath as she watched the boy leave the table. When he closed the door behind him, milk pail in hand, the sound rumbled through the kitchen like thunder.

She touched a hand to her hair, remembering that she had not brushed it and that she was still in her dressing gown and house slippers. She flushed when she realized Reming-ton was staring at her, the amusement gone from his eyes.

“I . . . I must look a sight,” she stammered.

“Yes.” A gentle smile returned to the corners of his mouth. “You
are
a sight, Libby. And I’d like to wake every morning to the sight of you.”

She couldn’t have drawn a breath to save her soul.

Remington chuckled. “I could have planned this better.” His gaze swept over the dirty dishes that cluttered the table. “I should have at least picked some wildflowers.”

“Wildflowers?”

“When a man proposes, he should give his intended a bouquet of flowers.”

“Proposes?”
Can this be happening?

Remington rose and came around the table. Favoring his bad leg, he got down on one knee, then took hold of her right hand. His gaze searched her face. “Will you marry me, Libby Blue?”

She looked at their joined hands.
Can this be happening?
Can it be real?

“I’m not a wealthy man, Libby, but I’m not impoverished. I can provide for you. Together we can make the Blue Springs strong again. I have some . . . debts and . . . and other obligations that I must clear up. I’ll have to go back home and settle matters before we can marry.” His hand tightened around hers. “But if you’ll say yes, you’ll make me a happy man. I won’t fail you. I promise you, before God, that I’ll be a good husband.”

Libby wondered when she would awaken from this exquisite dream.

Remington drew her toward him until she too was kneeling on the floor. He threaded his fingers through her tousled hair, then said in a whisper, “Marry me, Libby.”

Dear God, don’t let me wake up.

“Marry me, Libby. Say yes.”

“We would live here? At the Blue Springs?”

“Unless you want to leave.”

She shook her head. “No. No, I want to stay.” She swallowed hard, still feeling breathless. “What about Sawyer?”

“We’ll be a family, Libby. The three of us. If that’s what you
want.”

“Yes. Oh, yes, Remington. It’s what I want. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Anna knelt on the lush lawn and attacked the earth with her trowel, turning the soil, cutting the weeds. She enjoyed the feel of the mild sun on her back, the smell of the freshly turned earth, the buzz of bees as they hovered over budding flowers.

In another month, the temperature would climb and humidity would make being outdoors miserable. June, when everything came to life again, was Anna’s favorite month of the year to work in the garden. June brought vibrant colors. The promise of new beginnings. Renewed hope.

The yellow silk gown had arrived that afternoon. Anna had placed it under her bed, still in its box. What was she going to do with it now? She sat back on her heels and looked at the sky. Cumulus clouds soared into the heavens. Like bushy hydrangeas.

She smiled as she returned to work. She and Olivia had often played that game, trying to decide what the clouds looked like. They would lie on the lawn, mindless of grass stains, and stare up at the sky, Olivia’s head on Anna’s stomach. Olivia would point and call out an animal or a bird or a country, and Anna would agree with her, even if Anna couldn’t see it.

Of course, they never played such games when Northrop was around. Northrop didn’t believe in filling a child’s head with nonsense.

Olivia would have liked her mother’s new yellow gown.

“Oh, my darling daughter. I miss you.”

Anna drove the trowel into the ground with sudden anger. How could she have been such a fool? Why had she allowed Northrop to be so cruel to his daughter? For years, Anna had hoped that her submissive behavior might win her husband to Christ. But now she wondered if her adherence to one part of Scripture had made her disobedient to others. How often had her actions denied her faith in God because of what Northrop demanded of her?

Was it pride that kept her living this way? Or was it fear? Fear of Northrop? Fear of the unknown?

After Olivia disappeared, it was too late for Anna to leave Northrop. Her parents were long since dead and buried. She had no money of her own, no place to go, and no one to go to.

Father God, what should I do? I want to be obedient to
You above all else. And please, Lord, keep Olivia safe and free.

She dropped the garden tool into her basket, followed by her soil-stained gloves, then lay on the lawn, her arms stretched above her head as she stared at the sky.

“There’s a horse!” she shouted. “And there’s a giant strawberry!” Then she laughed, but it was the laughter of an anguished heart.

Fleetingly she thought that if Northrop were to see her, he would have her confined in an institution. Perhaps that was his aim after all these years. To drive her mad. Maybe he wanted to be rid of her, and this was his way of going about it.

But she knew it wasn’t true. Northrop was proud of her, in his own cruel way. She had the background, the breeding, that a man needed in a wife. She could entertain and socialize with men and women important to Northrop, if only for his ego. He might keep Ellen Prine for his mistress, but he would never marry her, even if Anna was gone. Ellen Prine didn’t have the proper pedigree.

Northrop kept both women because it suited him. No, if he’d wanted to be rid of Anna, he would have done so long ago.

She thought of the telegram that had arrived from one of Northrop’s detectives. He’d failed too. He hadn’t found Olivia. He’d advised Northrop to give up the search.

But she knew her husband wouldn’t give up. He was not a man who accepted defeat. He would keep searching for Olivia, until the day he died if it took him that long. The cost was irrelevant to him. It was winning he cared about. Winning—and the blind submission of those who were his.

“Don’t let him find you, Olivia.” Tears spilled down Anna’s cheeks. “I’d rather never see you again than have him hurt you.”