Robin Lee Hatcher (21 page)

Why had he come here, the intruder? Why, if not to steal something of value, either real or sentimental? The Monet was in its proper place. The few remaining coins in the earthenware jar hadn’t been taken. Nothing was amiss in her bureau drawers.

It was as if he’d never been there.

But she felt his presence still, and she was afraid of what it meant.

Standing against the wall of the bunkhouse, Remington watched as Libby shut her bedroom window and closed the curtains, hiding her from view. He let out his breath, not realizing until that moment that he’d been holding it.

It had taken all his resolve to leave the house. He knew she wanted him to stay with her. He was glad she hadn’t asked. He wasn’t sure he’d have been able to deny her.

Maybe he should forget going back to New York. Maybe he should just keep Northrop Vanderhoff’s money. Maybe he should hire someone back east to sell his home and divest him of his business concerns. Maybe he should marry Libby now.

His gaze moved over the moonswept landscape, looking for any sort of movement that would indicate something amiss.

What difference would it make if he didn’t go back to New York?

Perhaps none. Yet he needed to be clean of Northrop’s money. He didn’t want to owe Northrop anything when he took Libby for his bride.

His gaze searched the black shadows that were the trees surrounding the house and yard. He couldn’t make out a thing in their inky midst. Anyone could be out there, even now.

A wave of uneasiness swept through him.

Someone had been at the Blue Springs while they were gone. Someone had broken into the house. Why? What had he been after? And who was he? The most likely suspect was Timothy Bevins, even though Pete had said it wasn’t. He hoped Pete was wrong about that. He hoped Bevins was behind the break-in, because if he wasn’t . . .

Remington set his mouth in determination and looked at the house again. A light still burned in Libby’s room, and he wondered if she was as sleepless as he. Then he sank onto the bench near the bunkhouse door, resting his rifle on his thighs, prepared to watch through the night.

Anna’s eyelids felt like sandpaper. After Northrop left her bedroom, wearing that ugly, triumphant smile of his, she had wept until her tears were used up.

He’d found Olivia, and tomorrow he would go for her. He would go bring her back, drag her back in chains if he had to.

For several weeks, Anna had been able to imagine she too could break free of Northrop. Her daughter’s escape had given her hope. But hope for what? She had spent her life seeing to Northrop’s every need, responding to his every whim. Being the proper, obedient wife of Northrop Vanderhoff was all she knew how to do.

She knelt on the floor and reached beneath the bed, drawing out a large box. She removed the lid and stared at the yellow gown, still wrapped in tissue paper. For a brief time, she’d believed she could wear the dress. For a brief time, she’d believed she could defy Northrop.

She felt like crying again, but there were no more tears. She was dried up, like a well in a drought. She was dried up and about to blow away in a wind.

Anna leaned down until her face was hidden in the folds of the yellow dress. “Run, Olivia. Please run.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “God, help her.”

But faith was buried beneath despair, and she couldn’t find the strength tonight to believe her prayer would be answered.

Twenty-Two

WITH A HOT SUMMER SUN burning overhead, Sundown cantered toward the Bevins spread. The three-story whitewashed house, set up against the rise of a mountain, was easy to see in the distance. No doubt Bevins watched Remington’s approach.

The valley that cradled the Bevins ranch was long and wide, with thickly forested mountains forming the borders. Blue Creek cut a winding swath through the center of the valley floor. Brown-and-white cattle grazed peacefully in the tall yellow-green grass.

As Remington drew near the outbuildings, Bevins stepped onto the wide veranda that bordered two sides of the house. Remington reined Sundown to a walk, guiding the horse up close to the covered porch. He didn’t dismount after stopping. Instead he tipped his hat slightly back on his head so Bevins could see his eyes. He wanted to make sure the man understood what Remington was about to tell him.

Bevins spoke first. “I’m surprised to see you here, Walker.”

“I thought it was about time I paid you a visit.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a couple of men step out of the barn and lean against the corral fence, watching and listening. “I wanted to ask your help.”

“My help?” Bevins was clearly surprised.

“Yes. You know Miss Blue’s been having a rough time of it this past year, but lately she seems to have had more than her share of trouble.”

Bevins’s face grew dark. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“Nothing”—Remington leaned on his saddle horn—“I hope.” He paused a couple of heartbeats. “I just thought you might keep an eye out for strangers, vagrants. You know the type. Troublemakers.”

“You’re takin’ a mighty personal interest in that ranch of Miss Blue’s.”

“That’s because it’s about to become my ranch. Miss Blue and I are getting married.” Any pretense at polite conversation disappeared from his voice. “As her husband, I mean to protect both her and what’s ours. I’m not going to stand for any more sheep disappearing. There won’t be any sheds burning down in the middle of the night. There won’t be any runaway horses on the Pine Station road. No one’s going to spread lies about my wife. Whoever’s behind the trouble she’s
had in the past had best stop, or answer to me.”

Bevins’s hands closed into fists, and his face grew red with anger. “What’re you accusin’ me of, Walker?”

Remington raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Bevins. Just passing along some information to a neighbor.”

“Yeah, well, you can pass it along to someone else. It don’t mean anything to me.”

Remington straightened in the saddle. “I guess it’s time I got back to the Blue Springs, anyway. There’s plenty of work to do. Too much for one man, as a matter of fact. That’s why I went down to Weiser last week and hired on some extra ranch hands. They’ll be helping me keep a close eye on the place.” He backed Sundown away from the porch, then tugged his hat brim, shading his eyes once more. “Good day, Bevins.”

He touched his spurs to Sundown’s sides and loped away.

Libby stood outside the front door and watched as the hired hands felled another tree in the grove. The tall lodge-pole pine fell to the ground with a great deal of cracking and splintering and a jarring thump at the end. A cloud of dirt rose from the dry earth, briefly obscuring the men.

Remington was right about thinning the trees for a better view of the surrounding valley, but it still hurt to watch them fall. The grove of aspens, cottonwoods, lodgepoles, and tamaracks made her feel more protected than endangered. They had been her shelter from the world when she’d first come to the Blue Springs.

The sounds of axes biting into more wood filled the air. With a sigh, Libby turned and reentered the house, not wanting to watch another tree fall. She made her way to the kitchen to begin preparations for supper. The new ranch hands would be hungry after putting in such a hard day. And she wanted to prepare something special for Remington. This might well be his last night at the Blue Springs for several weeks.

He hadn’t actually said he was leaving tomorrow, but she suspected it. He’d talked with McGregor, obtained the sheepherder’s advice. Remington had hired more men, both to work around the ranch and, she knew, to keep an eye out for trouble while he was gone. And now he’d paid his visit to Bevins.

Her hands stilled in midair as a shiver ran up her spine. She’d dreamed of Bevins last night. She dreamed he grabbed hold of her arm and wouldn’t let her pull away. He told her she’d lost, that everything was his. His fingers pinched the flesh on her arms, and he laughed as she tried to pull free. “You can’t escape me,” he said. “You can’t get away.”

And then the face and the laughter had changed, and she found herself looking into the face of her father. “You can’t escape me,” he repeated. “You can’t get away.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against the worktable, trying to drive the image from her mind. It was a silly dream. Bevins couldn’t hurt her, and her father couldn’t find her.

Outside, another tree came crashing down, and Libby felt a second shiver of fear, the cause of it nameless, faceless, and therefore, all the more potent.

Northrop settled back in the plush, velvet-covered chair of the Vanderhoff car, listening to the now familiar
clackety-clackety-
clackety
of wheels upon rails. The sound satisfied him, perhaps because he knew where the tracks were taking him.

If the train kept on schedule, he would be in Weiser by nightfall. Tomorrow he would confront his daughter. Olivia would be surprised when she saw him, but only a little. She had to know he’d been searching for her. She had to have feared the day of discovery, even from the moment she bolted. She couldn’t have forgotten that her father was never bested, not in his business affairs or in his personal ones.

He struck a match and lit his cigar, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as he drew on it.

By Jove! He loved winning.

He exhaled a long breath of bluish gray air, watching the smoke curl in thin wisps as it rose toward the ceiling of the railcar. Then he frowned, his thoughts turning to Remington Walker, the detective he’d hired over ten months before. He wondered again why Walker had failed to report finding Olivia. Had he thought to hold out for more money? If so, he was about to regret it.

“Let her go, Northrop.”

His frown deepened as he remembered Anna’s plea. Only it wasn’t her words that angered him. It was the spark of rebellion in her eyes.

Let Olivia go? Not like this. She’d go where he told her to go. He
would
be obeyed.

His frown turned to a smug grin.

He had taught Anna a new lesson in obedience before leaving New York City. He expected it was a lesson his wife wouldn’t soon forget.