Robin Lee Hatcher (5 page)

Melly let out another noisy complaint and kicked the side of her stall for good measure.

“All right. All right. I hear you.”

Libby returned the pup to its mother, then stood and crossed the barn once again, this time entering the milk cow’s stall.

“Getting a bit cranky, aren’t we?” She patted Melly’s fawn-colored neck.

A few minutes later, with the cow tethered near the manger, Libby pulled a three-legged stool up close. As soon as she settled on it, she leaned close to Melly’s side and began to squirt milk into the bucket beneath the cow’s udder.

Libby enjoyed this particular chore. The warmth of the barn and the rhythmic sound of the milk sloshing into a pail soothed her. Her thoughts could wander wherever they pleased. This was often the time she took her troubles to the Lord and asked Him for answers.

This morning her troubles had to do with Remington Walker.

Last night her patient had requested a crutch so he could get out of bed. Libby found one that belonged to McGregor and gave it to Remington. He hadn’t tried to use it yet—at least not in front of Libby—but she suspected he would soon. She hoped he wasn’t rushing things. A setback would delay his departure.

I don’t understand it, Lord. He makes me nervous, having
him around, though I’m not really afraid of him. Maybe
I should be. I don’t know anything about him, and I know
I shouldn’t trust strangers. But something makes me think I
can trust him. I don’t know what it is for sure, but I feel it all
the same.

She thought of Remington’s slightly crooked smile, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. She remembered how his gaze followed her whenever she was in the bedroom, the intenseness with which he studied her, listened to her. She recalled the way his voice affected her, making her insides soften.

He was kind of handy to have around the other day.
Even hardly able to stand, he ran Bevins off. God, what’ll
happen after Mr. Walker’s well and gone? What’ll keep
Bevins from causing more trouble?

Nothing. Unless God willed otherwise.

Is that why Mr. Walker’s here, Lord? Did you bring him
here to help us protect the Blue Springs?

Her hands stilled as she leaned her forehead against the cow’s side. She wished Aunt Amanda could help her make sense of things. The woman hadn’t had an ounce of fear in her tiny body. She always seemed to know what to do.

Libby closed her eyes, remembering the night more than six years ago when she met Amanda Blue.

Olivia felt icy tentacles of fear wrap around her lungs
and squeeze, making it difficult to breathe. She watched
people filing down the aisle of the passenger car, taking their
seats, and she silently begged them to hurry.

Go
, she ordered the train.
Just go
.

She glanced out the window, staring at the darkness,
wondering if he was out there, the man her father hired to
bring her back. She checked to be sure her hair wasn’t peeking
from beneath the poke bonnet she’d tied on before leaving
the hotel. She wished there had been time to dye her hair
and scolded herself for not doing so sooner.

“Mind if I join you?”

Olivia turned her head and looked at the wizened face of
the short woman in the aisle. She opened her mouth to say
she’d rather be alone, but the woman spoke first.

“I’ll be glad to put San Francisco behind me.” She sat
across from Olivia and placed a carpetbag on the seat beside
her. “Too many people for my taste. My name’s Amanda Blue.
What’s yours?”

“Oli—” She stopped herself, remembering the mistake
she’d made in using her given name before. In a flash of inspiration,
she substituted the nickname her nurse had used when
Olivia was a little girl, the name her father forbade anyone
to use after he fired the nurse and sent her packing. “Libby.
My name is Libby.”

“Nice to meet you, Libby. I’m on my way to Idaho. You
ever been there? Pretty place. I got me a sheep ranch up in
the high country. Best sheep ranch in the whole territory.” She
shook her head. “Pardon my braggin’. I can go on when it
comes to the Blue Springs. That’s my ranch. I’ve been missin’
it real bad too.”

Olivia had no response, but it didn’t matter. Amanda
Blue seemed content to carry the burden of conversation. As
the train chugged its way out of the station and sped away
from San Francisco, she regaled Olivia with story after story
about the mountain country of Idaho Territory, about the
men who worked for her, about the sheep and the lambs,
about shearing seasons and lambing seasons. She talked on
as the miles fell away beneath the churning wheels of the
train, never seeming to notice Olivia’s silence.

The darkness of night had cloaked the passenger car when
Amanda suddenly leaned forward and covered Olivia’s hand
with one of her own. Her gray eyes were solemn, her expression
understanding, her voice soft. “You’re in trouble, aren’t
you, dearie?”

Olivia intended to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Don’t you worry.” Amanda patted her carpetbag. “I got
my Colt forty-five in here, just in case I need to do any per-suadin’,
but my guess is, whoever you’re runnin’ from isn’t
on this train or he’d’ve made himself known by now. You’re
safe with me.”

Strangely enough, the little woman made Olivia feel
safe too.

“Why don’t you come to Idaho with me, Libby? I got
lotsa room on that spread of mine. Won’t nobody come lookin’
for you there.”

“But you don’t even know me, Mrs. Blue,” she whispered,
her throat tight.

“Don’t have to know you t’see you need help, young
lady. You come and stay just as long as you want.”

Olivia glanced out the window. She had little money and
no idea where she was going. She’d simply purchased a ticket
on the first train out of San Francisco and hoped it would
take her beyond her father’s reach. But where was such a
place? In all the months of running and hiding, she had yet
to find one.

Could that place be in Idaho?

She turned and met the older woman’s friendly gaze once
again. “All right, Mrs. Blue, I’ll come with you.”

Amanda’s smile was gentle. “Don’t you worry, Libby.
It’ll work itself out, whatever your problem is. The good
Lord’ll see to that.” She patted her hand again. “And you
forget callin’ me missus. Too highfalutin’. You just call me
Aunt Amanda. It’ll make us feel like we’re family.”

For the first time since she’d escaped her father’s house
one year before, Olivia smiled in earnest. “I’d like that . . .
Aunt Amanda.”

Melly kicked at the pail of milk, nearly spilling its contents. Reminding herself that she had more chores to do, Libby rose from the stool, grasped the heavy pail, and left the barn.

When she opened the back door to the house minutes later, she was surprised to discover Remington standing at the stove. He leaned on his crutch as he scooped ground coffee into the blue-speckled coffeepot.

Hearing her enter, he glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning.”

“What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Walker?” She lifted the milk pail onto the counter near the sink.

He raised one eyebrow, as if the answer should be obvious. “Making coffee.” He flashed one of his crooked grins.

For some reason, his response irritated her. “I can
see
that.” She took the spoon from his hand. “Go sit down. You shouldn’t be putting so much weight on that leg. Do you want to start your wound bleeding again? That’s just what I need, to have you laid up longer than necessary.”

He didn’t argue with her, and she suspected he was in a lot of pain. She watched as he limped over to the table and sat on one of the chairs. She thought to scold him a bit more, to warn him of the permanent damage he might do to his leg. Then he met her gaze, and the words died in her throat. She turned away, unsettled.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday, Miss Blue.”

She didn’t look at him. “Apologize? Whatever for?”

“For offering to pay Sawyer. You see, he told me things have been difficult for you since his dad died and—”

“Sawyer shouldn’t be bothering you with our troubles, Mr. Walker.”

“The boy wasn’t bothering me.” He paused, then said, “And it sounds to me like you’ve got more troubles than you can handle.”

Libby turned around. “We get by. Struggle goes part and parcel with ranch living.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“This is my home, Mr. Walker. Where would you have me go?”

Remington watched as Libby held herself a little straighter. He saw the stubborn lift of her chin, caught the determined glint in her apple-green eyes. He admired her courage. After all, anytime she wanted she could return to a place where her every whim would be satisfied. And soon enough she
would
return to that life. Just as soon as Remington sent his telegram.

He frowned, not certain he wished that fate on her.

“Mr. Walker?”

He looked up as she drew closer to the table.

She placed her hands on a slat-backed chair. “I would be remiss if I didn’t warn you about Timothy Bevins. He won’t take lightly to what you did, making a fool of him in front of me. He’s got a mean temper, and he fancies himself a cattle baron who’s going to own this valley someday.”

Remington felt a powerful urge to stand, take her in his arms, and hold her close while whispering words of comfort. If he had the strength, he might have given in to it. He was thankful he didn’t have the strength. He wasn’t about to be the second Walker to fall victim to a Vanderhoff. And no matter what Libby called herself, she was still a Vanderhoff. He would do well to remember it.

Northrop stood at the window of his study and stared out at the Rosegate gardens. Beneath a gray sky, raindrops glistened on dark green leaves and lush lawns. In a few more weeks, the flowers would bloom, creating an explosion of color.

Not that Northrop cared about flowers. But he did take immense pleasure in people coveting something he owned. The magnificent rose gardens were no exception. His wife was responsible for the gardens that were the envy of every society matron in Manhattan, but Northrop wasn’t the sort of man who thanked others for doing what he expected of them. Even if he had been, he wouldn’t have thanked Anna for anything today.

Anger roiled through him. She had defied him, an unforgivable offense.

He heard the door open, but he didn’t have to look to know it was Anna. No one else would dare enter without knocking first. Neither would she if he hadn’t sent for her.

“Bridget said you wanted to see me.”