Robin Lee Hatcher (9 page)

Libby brushed tears from her cheeks.

I feel like one,
Who treads alone . . .

“Father God, help me. I’m afraid. I’ve been alone so long, I’m afraid to open my heart.”

Eight

REMINGTON WATCHED AS LIBBY SLIPPED her shotgun into the saddle scabbard and mounted the Roman-nosed horse. The white swaybacked gelding didn’t look strong enough to get her over the first foothill, let alone carry her up to the high pastures where the sheep grazed.

As if Sawyer had read Remington’s thoughts, the boy said, “He don’t look like much, but ol’ Lightning’s the most sure-footed critter you ever seen, and he can outlast just about anythin’ on four legs.”

Remington found that hard to believe.

Libby looked at Sawyer. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening. The day after at the latest.” She frowned slightly. “You do your lessons and make sure Melly is milked on time. I’m counting on you.”

“I’ll do it, Libby, but I still think I oughta be goin’ with you. Mr. Walker’s right, ya know.”

For the first time that morning, Libby met Remington’s gaze. “I’m able to take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for years.”

She didn’t want to need him, he realized. She was fighting it every way she knew how. And as crazy as it sounded, Remington wanted her to need him. He liked the way it made him feel, as if he was doing something worthwhile.

“Be careful,” he said in a low voice.

Something in her expression softened. “I will.” She nudged Lightning with her heels.

Remington watched Libby and the ugly white horse disappear into the grove of aspens and pines, knowing he wouldn’t rest easy until she was back again. He told himself he didn’t want to lose his finder’s fee, but it was a lie. His concern had nothing to do with money.

“I guess I’d better milk Melly,” Sawyer said with an exaggerated sigh.

Remington nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

He hadn’t come to Idaho for altruistic reasons. Finding Libby was a means to an end. He shouldn’t forget that.

Besides, once Libby was back in New York, she wouldn’t be in danger. She wouldn’t need Remington to look out for her. She would have nothing more pressing to worry about than what color gown to wear each morning. In the end, he would be doing her a favor.

He clenched his jaw, resisting his mental attempts to justify what he’d come here to do. Her name wasn’t Libby, and she wasn’t the niece of an Idaho sheep rancher. She was a Vanderhoff and, therefore, his adversary.

Or was she?

Libby cleared a bend and recognized McGregor’s camp in the distance, a ribbon of smoke rising from the central fire.
Thank You
,
Lord.

The sun rode the crest of the western mountains by the time she guided Lightning down the trail toward the camp. The dogs saw her first. As soon as one sent up a warning bark, McGregor was on his feet. He raised an arm and waved when he saw her. She waved back, then nudged Lightning into a trot, closing the distance between them.

“What’re ye doin’ here, lass? I wasna expectin’ ye until next week.”

She eased back on the reins, stopping the gelding. “We’ve had trouble at the ranch.” She dismounted and faced McGregor. “The wool shed burned to the ground last week.”

McGregor’s eyes narrowed. “How’d the fire start?”

“We don’t know for sure.”

“Was it Bevins?”

Libby shrugged. “It could be. He came to the house a couple of weeks ago and made some threats, but Mr. Walker ran him off. I’m not sure what—”

“Wait a minute, lass.” McGregor put a hand on her shoulder. “Who’s Mr. Walker?”

“It’s a long story.”

He took the reins from her hands. “Ye’ll be hungry. There’s supper in the pot. I’ll see t’yer horse, then ye can tell me yer long story.”

A short while later, with Libby fed and Lightning tethered alongside the team of mules that pulled the camp wagon, Libby told McGregor everything.

“Don’t ye be worryin’ yerself about the sheep,” he said when she fell silent at last. “We’ve got the dogs t’warn us of trouble comin’, and we’ll be ready.” He poured himself some coffee from the battered pot, kept warm at the edge of the fire. “But are ye sure ye can trust this . . . Walker, did ye say his name was?”

“Remington Walker.”
Could
she trust him? She wished she knew.

“Maybe we should bring the sheep down off the mountain, at least until we thinka what t’do next.”

“We can’t, McGregor. We haven’t the feed in the valley to see them through summer.”

“I’d rest easier if I could keep an eye on ye and the lad.”

“No, you must stay here. Sawyer and I will be fine.” She didn’t tell him Remington planned to stay on a while. “It’s the sheep I’m worried about. If we lose any more of them . . .”

“Ye leave them t’Ronald an’ me, lass. We’ll see that naught happens t’them.”

Libby smiled weakly. McGregor would do his best, but would his best be good enough? If she lost the ranch, where would she and Sawyer go? The Blue Springs had been a place of safety for them both. It was their home, a place where they’d known happiness. Would either of them find happiness again if they were forced from the ranch?

Sawyer played with Misty and her puppies out in the yard as dusk settled over the earth. The boy’s laughter, the dog’s barking, and the whine and yip of the pups floated on the evening air through the open window. The sounds were strangely pleasant, but Remington hadn’t time to be lulled by them.

He glanced around Libby’s bedroom. He ignored the twinge of guilt he felt as he moved toward the sturdy oak dresser in the corner.

The top drawer held several flannel shirts. The second drawer contained two pairs of men’s denim trousers. The third drawer contained feminine undergarments, accented with ribbons and lace. He grinned, both surprised and glad that Libby hadn’t taken to wearing men’s underdrawers along with the shirts and trousers.

The bottom drawer of the dresser contained more surprises—two dresses, one black, one the same apple green as Libby’s eyes. The dresses were well worn and out of fashion. Remnants from her past.

In this drawer, he also found a gold locket wrapped in tissue paper. He picked it up, letting the chain slip through his fingers. It was the locket Libby had worn for her portrait. Had she kept the pearls
as well?

He opened the locket and found tiny portraits of Anna and Northrop Vanderhoff inside. How often did Libby look at this necklace and remember what she’d left behind? Was she ever sorry she’d left Manhattan? Was he right that he would be doing her a favor when he notified her father of her whereabouts?

No
,
I won’t be doing her a favor.
He frowned as he rewrapped the locket in the tissue paper and returned it to the drawer.
She’ll hate me once she knows what I’ve done.

But it couldn’t be helped. He owed it to his father to see this through. This was his one and only chance to seize the justice that had eluded him for fifteen years. Such an opportunity wouldn’t come again.

Remington closed the drawer and straightened, his frown deepening as he tried to picture Sunnyvale and the life he’d known there. But it was Libby he saw in his mind, her face filled with sadness. She didn’t want to return to New York. She didn’t want to go back to her father. Could Remington blame her, knowing what he did about that man?

He cursed as he reached for his crutch and limped out of the bedroom, as if running from the accusation he could already see in her eyes.

Anna Vanderhoff heard her husband’s snoring, even through the heavy oak door that joined their bedrooms. The sound made sleep impossible.

Shoving aside the bedcovers, she rose and crossed the room to the large window. Holding aside the draperies, she stared down at the moonswept gardens, the one place where Anna felt a measure of real happiness. She often wished they were larger, so large she could lose herself in them forever.

Father, I ache to see Olivia again. Is she well? Is she
happy? Is she walking with You? Keep her close, Lord. Keep
her safe.

She turned her back to the window. Moonlight spilled across the floor, illuminating the door to Northrop’s bedroom.

Oh, God. Don’t let him find Olivia. He doesn’t care what
is right for her. He only wants to use her to satisfy his greed. Do
with me what You will, Father, but please keep my daughter
from a loveless marriage. Grant her a godly husband, I pray.

One more time Anna faced the window. She stared across the rooftops of the stately homes that lined Seventy-second Street. She stared toward the west and prayed that the men Northrop had hired to find Olivia would fail. As much as she longed to see her only child, she wanted even more for Olivia to be free.

“I love you,” she whispered, hoping the words would touch her daughter’s heart and Olivia would know who’d sent them.

Nine

“COME ON, LIGHTNING.”

Libby nudged the gelding with her heels, hoping to get a little more speed out of him, anxious to bring the ranch house closer that much faster. She told herself her urgency was because she didn’t want Sawyer to worry about her, or because there might have been trouble of one kind or another while she was gone. She told herself everything except the truth.

She wanted to see Remington.

Throughout the previous night, she’d dreamed of enigmatic eyes and a smile that stopped her heart. She’d dreamed of warm embraces and fiery kisses.

He said he wanted to stay and help. But how long would he stay?

A few weeks. A few months.

Forever?

Her heart skipped a beat.

Forever.

Did she
want
him to stay forever?

The answer came with a sharp thud in her chest.
Yes!

Libby pulled on the reins, stopping Lightning in his tracks. Breathing was difficult. Her pulse danced a rapid beat, and she felt light-headed.

“What have I done?”

She’d warned herself. She’d warned herself not to let this happen. Not ever. She hadn’t thought it would. But it
was
happening. Against all good sense, against all reason, it was happening to her.

She was falling in love.

Libby closed her eyes and remembered the feel of Remington’s embrace. It shouldn’t have felt so wonderful. The memory shouldn’t have stayed with her.