Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (19 page)

He shrugged, though he could not dismiss the pain of those dreadful days.

“The old couple was good to me. I stayed until spring. When I heard news of the Duggan gang at work nearby, I moved on.”

“And you've been moving on ever since.”

“Sometimes not soon enough.”

“You can make things different now.” Sybil squeezed his hand.

He didn't remember turning his palm to hers, but her soft and narrow hand lay in his and he squeezed back. She offered so much hope, so much promise, but...

“Will you try?”

How could he refuse such a gentle plea? He let himself drown in her gaze and nodded, ignoring the toll of warning bells. The Duggan gang was dead, he told himself, to silence the discordant sound.

* * *

The next morning Sybil watched Brand ride into the yard, Dawg at his horse's heels. He spoke to Eddie. They shook hands and Eddie pointed toward the barn.

Brand glanced up the hill and touched the brim of his hat.

She lifted her hand in a wave before he stepped into the barn. She glanced toward the sky.
Thank you, God.
She couldn't stop smiling. Brand had decided to stay and work for Eddie.

Mercy nudged her, sending a jolt of surprise jolt thought her.

“I didn't know you were there,” Sybil declared.

“I caught you mooning over that cowboy.”

She knew there was no point in arguing with Mercy, especially when it was true. Still, she wasn't about to give her friend the satisfaction of agreeing. “Just admiring the nice day.”

Mercy laughed. “Of course you are. Maybe you'd like to go for a walk.”

Sybil longed to go to the barn and see what Brand meant to do. She'd like to ask Eddie if Brand had agreed to live in the bunkhouse. Instead, she turned from the window. “Shouldn't we help Linette with the laundry?” She headed for the kitchen, where Linette had tubs of hot water set out. Soon the three of them were up to their elbows, scrubbing and rinsing clothes.

When Eddie came to the house for dinner the laundry was all out on the line, flapping in the cold breeze.

Linette, well aware of Sybil's interest in Brand even though she'd done her best to hide it, waited until Eddie had filled his plate to ask the questions pressing at Sybil's mind.

“Did Brand say how long he meant to stay?”

Eddie glanced up from his full plate. “Said it seemed a good place to spend the winter.”

Sybil barely contained her smile.

Linette beamed at her. “That sounds promising, doesn't it?”

Sybil pretended a great interest in spreading butter on a hot biscuit.

Linette turned back to her husband. “Is he going to live in the bunkhouse?”

Sybil's biscuit stopped halfway to her mouth. She couldn't make her hand go any farther as she waited for the answer.

Eddie nodded. “He asked if Dawg could spend the nights in the barn, and when I said he could, Brand threw his bedroll on an empty bunk. He took the one nearest the door.” Eddie sounded as if that choice was significant, and Sybil suspected it was.

Mercy said the words for her. “Guess he wants to be able to run if he wants.”

“He has no need to run,” Sybil protested, even though she'd thought the same. Winter and then what? Would he move on, leaving her to pick up the pieces of her life?

“And every reason to stay.” Mercy chuckled.

Linette and Eddie exchanged one of their private smiles.

Grady, quiet until now, looked up from his plate. “He likes Sybil.”

All the adults except Sybil laughed. Her cheeks burned. It was on the tip of her tongue to protest, but knowing it was useless, she kept silent.

It was all she could do to keep her mind on her tasks as the afternoon hours passed. Would he come to the house and ask for her? Would he expect her to go down the hill to meet him? Or was she imagining all sorts of possibilities when there were none?

She was at the window when Eddie headed up the hill for supper, Grady at his side. She lingered despite Mercy's knowing laugh as the cowboys hurried toward the cookhouse. Brand brought up the rear—a good ten feet behind the others. Her heart went out to him. How long would it take for him to feel comfortable around people?

He looked toward the house and again touched the brim of his hat.

Mercy chuckled. “I do believe he saw you.”

“Why are you spying on me?” Sybil's voice held no rancor. Mercy was simply being Mercy. She liked adventure, liked to keep things exciting, but she didn't have an unkind bone in her body.

“Because it's so much fun.”

Sybil turned from the window. “You've stuck close to the house all day.”

Mercy wrapped an arm about Sybil's waist as they turned toward the kitchen. “I didn't want to miss anything.”

“That's strange. You usually create your own excitement.”

“Usually,” Mercy agreed. “But you're much more interesting lately. Are you going to meet Brand later?”

She considered saying no just to prove her friend wrong, but then she'd feel obligated to follow through. “Maybe.”
I hope so.

Mercy laughed. “Oh, how our Sybil has changed.”

Sybil jerked them to a halt. “What do you mean? I haven't changed a bit.”

“You're letting yourself be friendly with an outlaw cowboy. Not too long ago you would have run from such a man.”

“He's not an outlaw and never was.”

Mercy just grinned and pulled her toward the kitchen. “An outlaw. A cowboy. Homeless. Likely as poor as a pauper. Sybil, so much for living a safe little life.”

Mercy meant to tease, but her words stung deep inside. Sybil didn't care about his possessions or lack of them. A person's value wasn't measured in his material belongings.

By the time the evening meal was finished, dusk had fallen. Her glance went continually to the window. Would Brand come to the house? She was almost certain he wouldn't. He'd be uncomfortable. Disappointment as sharp and stinging as acrid smoke burned her eyes.

Mercy nudged her. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Sybil stalled, wanting to go down the hill and see if Brand was around, but not wanting her friend to know how desperately she ached to see him and speak to him.

Mercy dragged her to the window overlooking the ranch. Lights glowed from the buildings. A lantern hung outside the barn, and in the shadows, a lean figure lounged against the wall.

“Guess who's down there waiting for you?”

“You don't know that.”

Mercy snagged shawls off the hooks in the hall and handed Sybil hers. “We haven't see Jayne all day. Let's go visit her.”

Without arguing, Sybil put on her shawl.

Linette and Eddie came into the room. Linette smiled at the pair. “Going out?”

“To visit Jayne.” Mercy winked and dragged Sybil to the door.

Trying to stop Mercy was as futile as trying to stop a train racing downhill. So Sybil let herself be hustled toward Jayne's house. All the while her heart pushed against her ribs and her eyes sought out the figure leaning in the shadows.

When they reached the cookhouse, the figure stepped away from the barn and toward them. All along she'd known it was Brand.

Mercy murmured softly, “I'll see Jayne on my own.” She slipped away.

Sybil barely noticed her departure as Brand moved closer. “Howdy,” he said, narrowing the distance between them.

“Good evening.” Was that all they had to say to each other?

He took her elbow and guided her down the moonlit path toward the river. “I decided to stay.”

“I'm glad you did.” They reached the bridge and stopped to lean on the handrail. They stared at the flashing silver of the water. “Are you enjoying your work?” she asked.

“Yes. And Cookie's food is great.”

She saw his smile as she turned to look at him. Their elbows brushed. She could think of a hundred questions she wanted to ask him.... How had he survived his unsettled childhood? How bad did he hurt after losing his family? But she didn't want to shatter the calm between them.

He shifted, leaned on one elbow and considered her. “I imagine you growing up in England in a big fancy house somewhat like Eddie's. Fancy clothes. Fancy parties. Fine books. Am I right?”

“I was lonely.”

“What about Mercy and Jayne?”

“I didn't meet them until I was considered old enough to participate in proper social events.” Sybil guessed her voice conveyed her regret over the things she'd missed as a child. “Not that I didn't love my parents and enjoy their company.”

“No beaux?”

There'd been Colin, but what she'd felt for him paled to insignificance. “I once fancied myself in love.”

“What happened?”

“He left and never looked back.” She tried to disguise the hurt in her voice. Wondered if she'd succeeded.

Brand touched her cheek. “And hurt you. And I did the same thing. I'm sorry to have added to your pain.”

She couldn't push a word past her tight throat.

“Did your parents give you everything you needed or wanted?”

Her breath eased out and she could answer. “They gave me what they felt was best for me.”

“You didn't agree?”

She chuckled. “It never entered my mind to disagree until...” She squelched the unfaithful thought.

He touched her elbow. “Until what?”

“My father did much of his work from his office at home. He was a lawyer and saw many of his clients there. When Mother was ill and resting, he let me stay in his office. I had to be very quiet, so he gave me paper and pencils and I amused myself.”

“Let me guess. You made up stories.”

“Not at first. I drew little pictures. You know the sort...a round ball with a smaller one on top. Add triangles for ears, whiskers and eyes, and I'd made a cat.”

He chuckled, making her want to go on.

“I always showed them to Father. He admired them and said how clever I was. He said I must show them to Mother.”

Silence descended between Sybil and Brand. A bird fluttered and chirped as if settling her babies, though the babies would have flown the nest by now. Perhaps mother birds always made comforting good-night sounds. Laughter drifted from the bunkhouse and then the mournful sound of a harmonica.

“I soon learned to read and write, and added words to my pictures,” she continued. “More and more words, until finally the words grew into stories. They seemed to come from deep inside, pushing at my heart, my head and my fingers.” She felt the familiar rush she did when writing.

“I continued to show them to Mother and Father. They continued to say how clever I was. Until...” She drew in a large breath to steady her voice. “Until I said I wanted to one day write stories for everyone to read. I wanted to be an author. They sat side by side as I told them. I expected they'd say how clever I was, how pleased they would be to see others enjoy my stories.” She couldn't go on, feeling again the bottom fall out of her stomach, leaving her airless and slightly nauseated.

Brand caught her shoulder and squeezed gently. The warmth of his touch slowly melted the ice about her heart.

“I was so disappointed when they didn't approve, though I still don't understand why. They should have been so proud.”

He pulled her closer, pressed her head to his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart vibrated through her. “And now you disappoint yourself.”

She sprang back. “You're wrong.” Only he wasn't.

“Really?” He leaned back. “Guess I'll never understand, so let's talk about something else. I told you about my last Christmas. Tell me about yours.”

She realized he meant the year his mother had died. He saw it as his last Christmas. Six years ago. Six years of loneliness, shutting himself away from others, fearing the appearance of his pa and brother. Treating Christmas as if it didn't matter any more than any other day. And for him it hadn't, which was even sadder. Had no one ever reached out to him? Or had he turned his back on help? Either way, it was a lonely, barren life he lived. Sybil pushed back the sympathy so she could talk.

“I've been living with an elderly cousin and celebrated Christmas with her two years ago. It was very quiet.” She made a sound of amusement. “Everything about her house was very quiet. Last year I spent with Jayne at her house. It's crazy there. So much coming and going I don't know how they kept track of everyone.”

“And before your parents died?” Brand's low voice evaded her defenses and took her back to Christmases past.

“We always had such a good time. My parents took me to Piccadilly Circus to look at all the toys in the shops. They bought me dolls and books. They each helped me choose gifts for the other parent. I was always so excited on Christmas morning, when we ate a special breakfast of waffles sprinkled with powdered sugar and covered with clotted cream. Father passed out the gifts and we sat around enjoying them while the cook roasted a goose.”

Brand turned to look at the water gurgling under the bridge. “You were a loved and adored child.”

Something in his voice made her feel she had pushed him away. She tried to think what she'd done to make him grow distant. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when he spoke.

“It's getting late.” He straightened and turned to indicate they should go back. He escorted her to Jayne's house to meet Mercy. Then he hurried away with a barely murmured goodbye.

Sybil paused before the door to the cabin. Why had he retreated so quickly? Did he think she would look down on him because of the way he'd been forced to live?

As soon as she stepped inside the house, Mercy hurried to her side. “Tell us everything.”

Seth bolted to his feet. “I think the horses must need something.” He fled outside.

Jayne laughed. “Too many females around for him. Too much
romance
.” She clasped her hands together, looking starry-eyed, then took Sybil's other hand. “Do tell us.”