Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (21 page)

She sighed and turned away. “We should be getting back.”

He'd waited too long. The opportunity had passed. Probably a good thing, but he found no comfort in the thought.

He escorted her to within a few feet of the door. “Good night,” he murmured. His instinct was to run down the hill, throw himself on the back of his horse and leave, while he still had an ounce of good sense left. But he was through running from the Duggan name and his fears. He'd go only if someone made it clear he should.

In the meantime, he didn't intend to walk away until Sybil was safely indoors.

“Good night,” she whispered, her hand brushing his arm. “I enjoyed the evening.”

Before he could pull a word or question from his brain, she stepped inside. Did she enjoy the evening because the children played tag with them or because of their moonlit walk?

Perhaps it was best not to know. That way he could allow himself to dream a few dreams.

* * *

Sybil's thoughts tangled like knotted yarn. Did Brand care about her? How could she make him understand how she felt?

Hoping to sort out her troubled thoughts, she reached for her Bible. The book fell open at Proverbs, but she continued to turn pages until she reached the Song of Solomon...a lover's song. Surely it would answer her questions.

But after a few minutes she closed her Bible, as mixed up as ever. She wrote in her notebook.
I need wisdom from above. God, please guide my path.

She pulled out her notes on Brand. She had so many questions, but the answers weren't for her story. They were for her heart. She studied the pages. It was a good story. One her editor would like. But she couldn't bring herself to send it. What she knew about Brand seemed like a trust he'd given her. She didn't want to dishonor that.

She put the pages back in the drawer, then lay back on the bed, recalling every moment of the evening. Playing tag had been so much fun. Seeing the children enjoying each other...

A story idea sprang into her head, and she grabbed paper and pencil and wrote for two hours before turning out the lamp and crawling into bed.

Brand had asked her about her dream of publishing her stories. She'd thought the dream had died, but found it had lain dormant as it grew and matured.

Over the next couple days Sybil found it impossible to explain this drive in her, this urgency to see Brand, to spend as much time with him as possible. She stopped trying to justify it to herself and others. She stopped trying to make excuses, and simply rushed down the hill every evening to where he waited.

Sometimes the children came out and played tag with them. Always she and Brand walked. And she asked questions. What was his favorite color?

“Gold,” he said. “The same shade of gold as your hair.” His answer brought pleasant warmth to her cheeks.

She wanted to know the name of every place he'd worked or lived.

He hesitated at first, then told her of the many places. Some where he'd wished he could stay longer but hadn't dared. Others where he couldn't wait to move on. Only when she pressed did he admit that not everyone welcomed a stranger who wouldn't reveal his last name.

“It didn't matter to Eddie,” she said.

“Eddie is a good man, a fair boss.”

Then she wanted to know about every injury he'd incurred, no matter how minor. “Like the banging your leg took when Cal brought in that outlaw horse.”

Brand laughed, draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close. “Sybil, bumps and bruises are an everyday part of my work, and ranch life in general. I don't take note of such minor things.”

She turned to observe his face. “How about the major ones?”

At first she thought he would give the same answer, then his mouth twisted in a wry grin. “They only count if they mean I can't ride.”

“Do you mean ride wild horses or ride away?”

He nodded. “Yup.”

She laughed and nudged him in the ribs.

He groaned and pretended to be hurt.

“How many times have you been unable to ride?”

“Twice.” She heard the regret in his voice. “Once I cut my foot on a tin can someone had carelessly tossed into a pasture. It got infected and I had to rest a few days. Even when I left, I couldn't put my boot on. Carried it over the saddle horn.”

She joined him in laughing about the situation, though her insides tightened at the idea of his suffering and the risk he took riding with an unhealed foot. “And the other time?”

“Well, that was entirely my fault.”

“What did you do?” She pushed her shoulder against his chest as if the movement could force the words from him.

“I let myself be distracted momentarily while working with a horse. Ended up getting kicked.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, the kick didn't hurt that much. But I was mad and I got back on the horse. I was not in the frame of mind I needed to be in when dealing with a wild animal. He threw me before I found my balance. Right into the boards. Knocked me out and cut my head.” Brand bent and showed her where the cut had been, just above his left ear.

She parted his hair to examine his head under the light from the lantern by the barn door. She couldn't see anything, but touching him like that made the air feel light as butterfly wings. “Glad to see you survived.” Her voice was husky.

“Couldn't see straight for two days. Had a sore head for a long time.”

“Ah.” That was all she said.

He squinted at her. “Ah? What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “Only that it explains a few things.”

He caught her elbows. “Like what?” His own voice had grown low.

She pretended to try and wriggle free, though she hoped he wouldn't take her seriously and drop his hands. “Now I understand why you act so thickheaded at times.”

“When have I ever done that?”

Her thoughts stalled. Only one thing came to mind and she wasn't sure she should mention it.

He shook her gently. “Tell me.”

“Well, if you insist, I'd have to say that to keep running from the Duggan gang when it no longer exists is pretty thickheaded.”

He dropped his hands to his sides and studied her long and hard. “I'm through running.”

She touched his arm. “I'm glad.”

One more question burned to be asked. “Have you ever left a brokenhearted girl behind?”

“No. Never.”

“Really? No love interests?” Sybil could hardly believe it.

“Once I thought myself in love.” He told her about May.

Sybil sensed how hurt he'd been, and wrapped her arm around his as they walked along the path toward the bridge, where they stopped. She raised her face to him as she did every evening, on the pretext of deep interest in something he said. It wasn't that her interest wasn't real, but what she really hoped for was a sign of growing affection on his part.

A kiss from Brand would signal he felt the same thing.

But each time, he looked ready to accept her silent invitation...then blinked and shifted away. Perhaps he didn't share her feelings. Perhaps she was wrong in thinking he cared.

Chapter Seventeen

B
eing part of a crew made Brand more nervous than riding a rank horse. He was never sure what to say. He'd forgotten how to sit at a table and make conversation. Sleeping in a bunkhouse with others made his skin twitch. But it was worth it to see Sybil every day. He often observed her helping Linette or visiting with Jayne during the day. And each evening, she joined him for a walk. He'd never known such sweet moments.

She stood before him this evening, her face upturned to him. He studied her expression, memorizing every feature, branding it indelibly on his memory. As long as he lived and drew breath he would remember these evenings with joy.

He touched a wayward curl and pulled in a breath at the satiny feel of her hair. A fine lady from high-class society. And yet she smiled at him. Tipped her face toward his touch.

“Sybil?” He whispered her name. Was he misreading the invitation in her eyes?

“Brand.” She lifted a hand and pressed her palm to his chest.

“You are a fine lady.”

Her smile widened. “And you are a fine gentleman.”

He grinned at that. “I'm just a cowboy.”

“I don't think the two are mutually exclusive.”

His smile spread further. “I suppose not.”

Her fingers teased the hair above his ear. Tingles of anticipation flooded his brain, even as more tingles raced up his arm and pounded through his heart. Was it possible she wanted what he wanted? A kiss? And so much more. A kiss would merely signal all the things he hoped for and dared not dream of. Love, acceptance, family, home...

“Sybil.” He whispered her name, again disturbing the curl on her forehead. For a moment it held his attention.

“Yes?” Her sweet breath brushed his face.

“Sybil, would you think me overly bold if I said I want to kiss you?”

“Mostly I would think it's about time.”

He chuckled, delighted at her response, and slowly lowered his head, anxious to claim her lips, but wanting the moment to last forever.

She went up on her toes and met him halfway.

Her lips were warm and welcoming. Sweet as nectar.

He would have lingered, drowning in the million sensations and delights flooding through him, but he didn't want to frighten her away, so he broke off the kiss and pressed her head to his shoulder.

She sighed.

And he knew satisfaction he'd never before experienced. He wished he could find words to describe it. “I can't remember ever feeling like this.” It didn't begin to say what he felt.

“What do you feel?”

“I think...” He swallowed hard, awed by the warm emotions flooding his heart and spreading to his limbs. Could this be love?

If he loved her, he would keep it secret. He didn't deserve someone like her. “Sybil, I'm just a poor lonely cowboy.”

“Brand, I'm just a poor lonely English girl.”

“Poor?”

“Did you think I was rich?” She leaned back to study him. “I'm not. When my parents died I was left almost penniless.” She paused, her expression filled with questions. “Would it make a difference if I were rich?”

He studied the question. “You deserve a nice house and...”

“And what?”

“Everything that goes with it.” What was the point of going into details? He had nothing. She deserved everything.

“You don't think I deserve love?” She didn't wait for him to answer. “Doesn't everyone?” Her voice was low, challenging.

Oh yes. He wanted to believe everyone did. Even a Duggan. “I'm just a cowboy,” he said again.

“And I'm just a girl.”

“Is that enough?”

“Do you want it to be?” She continued to watch him. Even in the silvery moonlight, her gaze probed until he had no defenses.

“Yes.” He pulled her against his shoulder again and tilted his head to rest his cheek on her satiny curls.

She sighed. He imagined a pleased look on her face. One that would match his own.

A fire lit in his heart, warm and bright. But he must take her home before he gave people cause to talk about her. He didn't care what they said about him. All his life he'd been talked about. But Sybil would never bear that stigma if he had anything to do with it.

He pulled her hand around his elbow and pressed it to his side.

They walked up the hill and paused before the door. She turned, lifted her face to him, her invitation clear. He needed no more and caught her lips in a gentle, chaste kiss, then broke away.

She stepped toward the door. “Good night, cowboy.”

He grinned. “Good night, English girl.”

Not until he reached the bunkhouse did he force the smile from his lips.

It threatened to return the next morning even when he went to work. Eddie asked him to check all the gates, a job that gave him plenty of opportunity to watch the big house.

Twice he saw Mercy carrying water, but he couldn't see the back of the house until he went to the wintering pens. Then he was able to watch Sybil hanging laundry on the line. The wind billowed her dark blue skirt around her legs, puffed out her white top and pulled pins from her curls until they rioted around her head.

He leaned back on his heels and watched.

She emptied the basket and looked about, scanning the yard to his right.

He waited, wondering if she'd search further. She did, until she found him.

The distance was too great to see her expression, but he didn't need to. His heart leaped in greeting.

She waved.

He waved back.

Neither of them moved. For sure, he wasn't going to be the first.

Something caught Sybil's attention and she turned toward the house, nodded, then picked up the basket, glancing again in his direction before she disappeared out of sight.

At that moment he made up his mind. He'd ask her out for a walk this evening and tell her he loved her.

He was ready to take the chance.

It was midafternoon when he finished his job. “All the gates are in good repair,” he told Eddie. “What do you have for me to do now?”

“There's no point in starting another job this late in the day,” the rancher said. “You're free to do whatever you like.”

“Okay, boss.” There was only one thing he wanted to do. He'd seen Sybil leave the house half an hour ago, headed in the direction of his old campsite. It seemed to be where she liked to go to be alone...where she read and wrote.

He washed up reasonably well, left Dawg in the barn and headed for the spot. This time it was about him and Sybil. He did not want Dawg to be part of what he had to say.

She sat against a tree, the golden leaves a bright backdrop. More leaves danced across the ground, fluttered in the air. She distractedly brushed one from her hair, lost in concentration as she wrote furiously.

He stood in the shadows, content to watch.

Her hand paused. She lifted her head, listening, and then glanced about.

He stepped forward so she wouldn't be alarmed. “Howdy.”

She smiled, her cheeks rosy and her blue eyes glinting. “Howdy, yourself.”

He crossed the clearing to her side and sat down. He hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't planned how he'd do this. It didn't seem right to blurt out “I love you.” Seemed something that important should be done properly. “What are you doing?”

“Yesterday when you talked to the boys about learning to ride wild horses, I thought of another story.” She kept her head down.

“Why are you embarrassed?”

There was a beat of silence as she considered his question. “I suppose because my writing means so much to me.”

“Are you going to get your stories published?”

“It's not that easy.”

“Because you're still afraid of how people will react?” If the opinion of others mattered so much, how could he tell her how he felt? People would likely say unkind things if her name was linked to his. Would she let them influence her? He swallowed. This was harder than riding a wild horse.

“It's not so much that.” She paused a moment, then went on. “Being published means someone has to be willing to publish my stories.”

“And you wonder if anyone would be?”

She nodded. “I've never tried to publish fiction.”

“Can I read your story?”

She handed him a handful of papers.

The story began well. Two daredevil boys with more guts than common sense decided to ride a wild mustang. He chuckled a few times as he read. He reached the end of the page and turned it over.

But the second page didn't seem to follow.

He was known only as Cowboy. He never did give a last name before he rode into the sunset. He didn't welcome any questions about his true identity. But he was the best bronc buster in the territory. A reputation well earned.

It began when he was ten...

This wasn't the same story. It wasn't about children. It was about a grown man who broke horses, a loner with no name and an ugly, but loyal, dog.

This was his story.

Brand stared at the pages. “Have you had other things published?” The words felt like blocks of ice on his tongue.

“A few nonfiction articles, but not under my own name.”

He faced her, his eyes burning. “Is this one of those you've had published?” He shoved the pages toward her.

She glanced at them and gasped. “How did this get in there?”

He jerked to his feet. “So all the questions, all the interest was merely so you could write a story about a nameless cowboy?”

She scrambled to her feet. “No, Brand. Well, maybe at first. But—”

“I should have known. A fancy English miss and a nameless cowboy. Of course you had to have another reason.”

She reached for him.

He stepped away.

“Brand, I never sent the story to the editor. I couldn't.”

He slammed his hat on his head. “Well, don't let me stop you. I'm sure it's worth more than—” He would not say what he'd intended.
Me
. “I hope it earns you a lot of money.” He strode away as fast as he could. He would not run, though his muscles twitched to do so.

“Brand, wait.” She trotted after him.

He ignored her call and easily outdistanced her with long, hurried strides. He felt as if she'd snatched the ground from beneath his feet. All her attention had been so she could get a story. How could he trust anything he'd believed about her?

Eddie was in front of the barn. Good. That would save him from finding the man.

“Eddie, I have to leave.”

“Leave? Now? Is something wrong?”

Everything. He'd been a blind, stupid fool. “I have to go. I have my reasons.”

“You're sure about this? I can't change your mind?”

“My mind's made up.” Brand grabbed his saddle and strode toward his horse.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'll run up to the house and get your wages.”

Brand didn't want to wait, but he would need the money to buy supplies. “I'll be at the bunkhouse collecting my things.”

Eddie opened his mouth to say something more, then thought better of it and jogged away.

Brand finished saddling up, and whistled for Dawg. The dog wriggled in anticipation. Guess he was ready to move on, too. Brand led the horse from the barn.

But Sybil stood in the roadway. “Brand, please.”

He pretended not to hear. Dawg hesitated, turned toward her and whined. Brand whistled and the dog trotted after him.

At the bunkhouse, Brand stuffed his things into his saddlebag, rolled up his bedding and left the place without a backward look.

Eddie waited outside and counted out his wages. “I don't know what happened, but I saw Sybil with tears streaming down her face.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“Perhaps not, but there is obviously a misunderstanding that can't be resolved if you ride away.”

“The misunderstanding was wholly on my part.”

“Still.”

Brand didn't reply.

Eddie shook his head. “If you change your mind, you're always welcome here.”

“Thanks, but I won't be back.”

Eddie held out his hand. “It's been a pleasure.”

Brand shook the rancher's hand, wishing he could say the same, then mounted up. Dawg followed.

Not until he was beyond sight of the ranch did Brand stop, turn around and look back for a long time. Regret scratched through his veins. Another chapter over. Another lesson learned.

He headed down the trail. Dawg stood looking back until Brand called him.

* * *

Sybil hadn't been able to hide her tears from Eddie as she rushed to the house.

Linette saw her as she burst through the door and dashed down the hall, hoping to reach her bedroom before she collapsed.

“Sybil, what's wrong?” her friend called. When she didn't answer and continued her headlong rush, Linette hurried after her.

Sybil turned the corner and ran into Mercy.

“Whoa.” Mercy grabbed her arms and steadied her. She looked at Sybil, saw the gushing tears. “Sybil, what's the matter?”

The only sounds she could make were the sobs she fought to stifle.

Linette wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “What's happened? Are you hurt?”

Sybil shook her head. Yes, she was hurt, but how was she to explain a pain without physical cause?

“It's Brand, isn't it?” Mercy sounded disgusted. “What did he do? Tell me. I'll find him and make him pay.”

Sybil hiccuped and again shook her head. “He...didn't...” She swallowed back tears. “It's all a mistake.”

“Then tell him. Whatever it is.”

“I can't,” she wailed. “He left.”

Mercy held her at arm's length. “You mean he's gone? Ridden away?”

Sybil nodded.

Linette sighed. “Eddie will be disappointed. He liked Brand.”

“Eddie's disappointed?” Mercy grunted. “What about Sybil?”