Robin Lee Hatcher (13 page)

“Libby.”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me about your family.”
Tell me what you were running
from. Tell me why you’re hiding.

Her glance was quick and sparing. “I haven’t any family. It’s just Sawyer and me.”

Another lie on the rising wall.

“Everyone starts out with a family. You told me you came from San Francisco to live with your aunt. What was your life like before you came here? Tell me about your parents.”

She was silent for a long time, and he thought she might not answer him. Then she sighed.

“My mother’s name was Anna.” Her voice was soft, wistful. “Mama was a pretty, gentle woman, always kind to others, no matter what their status. Our servants loved her. Everyone loved her. Everyone except—” She cleared her throat, as if she’d choked on the words.

Remington waited for her to continue.

“I never liked our house. It was large and dark. I don’t think Mama liked it either. That’s why she spent so much time in her rose gardens.” She stared off into space, as if remembering.

He pushed for more. “What about the rest of your family?”

“There wasn’t anyone besides my parents and our servants. I wanted a brother or a sister, but Mama always told me I was enough, a special blessing from God. Sometimes she would come to my room late at night, after I was supposed to be asleep, and she would read to me from storybooks about magical places and people. Sometimes she read poetry, beautiful sonnets about . . . about love.”

“And your father?” Remington noticed the way her fingers tightened around the reins.

“My father didn’t believe in fairy tales or storybooks. And he hated poetry.”

Remington should let it go. He should let her be, but he couldn’t. “What made you leave home, Libby? What made you come to Idaho?”

She turned, and he felt the hardness of her gaze upon his face. “Because I had no choice.”

Tell me the truth.

“I lost my parents,” she said, her voice cracking. She looked away. “I lost everything. I have no home but Blue Springs, no family except for Sawyer.”

A long, pregnant pause followed. Libby had told him little, yet Remington understood so much more. He knew now, beyond a shadow of doubt, that Libby had run away from her father, that Northrop had hurt her, wounded her deeply. The worst thing that could happen to her would be for someone to return her to New York and her father’s house.

Remington hated himself for what he’d done, hated himself more for what he had yet to do. But his promise to stay until Libby was safe from Bevins’s attempts to take her ranch couldn’t delay him from sending a telegram much longer. Once he could sit astride a horse for the hours it would take him to reach Weiser . . .

Libby slapped the reins against the backs of the horses. “Get up there!”

The team quickened its stride, and the wagon continued on toward Pine Station, the occupants cloaked in silence.

The sign above the Pine Station general store was faded but still legible from a fair distance. The store was housed in a long log building, single story and low roofed. The proprietors, Marian and Walter Jonas, were an elderly couple who’d come to the territory nearly thirty years before. They opened the way station when the gold rush was at its peak and miners were moving back and forth between camps. The couple stayed on after the boom, selling supplies to the farmers and ranchers who settled in the lush mountain valleys of Idaho Territory.

Next to the general store was Lucky’s Saloon, run by a crusty old gold miner who had broken his leg when his cantankerous mule threw him down the side of a mountain. Somehow—no one knew exactly how—Lucky had managed to drag himself to Pine Station. He lost his leg to gangrene, but he always figured he was lucky to be alive at all and told folks so every chance he got. The nickname stuck, and everyone, including Lucky, seemed to have forgotten his real name.

All of this Libby had learned from Amanda during Libby’s first year at the Blue Springs.

“Pine Station?” Remington asked as the wagon crested the hill and the two buildings came into view.

They were the first words either of them had spoken for over an hour.

She nodded, her throat tight with warring emotions. She wished Remington had never asked about her parents. The questions brought up too many memories. They reminded her why she left New York and why she could never leave Idaho. She remembered why she never meant to fall in love.

She glanced sideways at Remington and tried to tell herself she was mistaken about her feelings for him. It wasn’t love she felt; it was loneliness.

But in her heart, she knew the truth.

“Libby, ain’t that Mr. Bevins’s horse?” Sawyer asked.

She spied the piebald tied to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. “Yes. It’s his horse.” She drew back on the reins. “At least we know he’s not at the ranch causing trouble.”

When the wagon stopped, Libby set the brake, then looped the reins around the brake handle and hopped to the ground.

“Leave Ringer in the wagon,” she told Sawyer as she headed for the general store, not waiting for Remington or the boy.

“Mornin’, Miss Blue,” Marian called from behind the back counter.

“Good morning, Mrs. Jonas.” Libby wound her way through the display tables, silently rehearsing her request. Marian Jonas could be a pain in the backside, but she was a decent woman at heart. Surely she would be patient a little longer, just until Libby could raise some cash.

“I figured it was ’bout time you were in for supplies.” The plump woman offered a smile. “I could just about set my clock by Amanda’s visits.”

Libby nodded. “I remember.”

“I got plenty o’ cornmeal and flour and salt.” Marian turned toward the large sacks stored in the back corner. “Imagine you’ll want a bit of sugar for the boy.”

“Mrs. Jonas.” Libby paused, took a deep breath, then began again. “Mrs. Jonas, first I need to talk to you about payment for the supplies.
I was hoping we could put them on account. You see, we . . . we had a bit of trouble out at the ranch.” She held herself a little straighter. “As soon as we can market some more of our sheep—”

“Sellin’ off your sheep’s gonna make it hard to keep the ranch goin’, ain’t it, Miss Blue?”

She twisted, surprised to find Bevins standing near the wall of canned goods, hidden in the shadows.

“Your flock’s been thinned down, from what I hear. How’re you gonna pay Miz Jonas if you’re broke?” His tone mocked her as he stepped forward into the light from the window.

Libby had thought Bevins was over at the saloon. She wouldn’t have been so frank with Marian if she’d known he was here.

His smile was a sneer in disguise. “But then, maybe you plan on marryin’ that fella you got livin’ in your house with you.”

Heat rose in Libby’s cheeks as she turned to find Marian watching her with disapproving eyes. Before she could explain, the door opened and Sawyer and Remington entered.

“And you with that boy staying with you,” Marian scolded in a low voice. “Have you no shame, Miss Blue?”

“It’s not like Mr. Bevins makes it sound.”

“I should hope not.” Judging by her tone, Marian believed otherwise.

Libby squared her shoulders. “About putting our supplies on account. I’d be happy to trade mutton, if you prefer.”

“Mutton upsets my stomach, so I don’t suppose we’d have any interest in a trade.” Marian glanced at Remington as he approached. “And Mr. Jonas has decided we can’t extend any more credit. Money’s short for everyone. I’m afraid we can’t help you.”

Libby heard Bevins’s soft laughter but refrained from looking his way. “Thank you anyway, Mrs. Jonas.” She turned to Sawyer. “We’d best be on our way.”

“But, Libby—”

“Please don’t argue with me, Sawyer.” Tears threatened, but she was determined not to let them fall in front of Bevins. “We’ve a long drive back to the ranch.” She glanced toward Remington, uncertain what to say to him.

“I need to pick up a few things for myself,” he told her. “Why don’t you wait for me in the wagon? I won’t be long.”

She couldn’t do anything but nod and hurry out of the store before she lost control and began to cry.

Remington met Timothy Bevins’s glare as the door swung closed behind Libby. Bevins was muscular and probably had plenty of brute strength, but Remington guessed he also suffered from a short fuse, a serious handicap in a game of wits.

As the large clock sitting atop a high shelf marked the seconds, the corner of Bevins’s right eye began to twitch. A sheen of perspiration appeared on his forehead and upper lip. His weight shifted from one foot to the other, then back again.

“I suggest you keep away from Miss Blue and her ranch.” Remington’s words were deceptively mild.

Bevins’s face turned red. “Who do you think you are, tryin’ t’tell me what to do?”

“Who do
you
think I am?”

Again silence stretched between them. Remington waited it out. He’d known other men like Bevins, cowards who struck from behind, who picked only on those smaller or weaker than themselves. Bevins wouldn’t take up Remington’s unspoken challenge. He would turn tail, at least for now. A few minutes later, just as Remington had expected, Bevins swore beneath his breath, strode down one aisle, and slammed the door as he left.

Remington felt only a small twinge of satisfaction as he turned to face the proprietress. “Good afternoon. I’m Remington Walker.”

“Hmm.” Even though she had to look up to meet his gaze, she still managed to look down her nose at him. “I’m Mrs. Jonas. What can I do for you?”

“I need some supplies.” His smile was congenial and hid his anger. “I’ll be paying cash, of course.”

He guessed correctly that Mrs. Jonas wasn’t so offended she wouldn’t take his money. Fifteen minutes later, he loaded the back of Libby’s wagon with everything he thought might be of use to her.

Fourteen

“I SHOULDN’T HAVE LET YOU do that,” Libby said softly once Pine Station was behind them. “You shouldn’t pay for our supplies.”

“Why not? You’ve taken care of me when I couldn’t care for myself. It’s only right I do my part now.”

Her throat hurt. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back.”

“I’m not asking you to pay me back.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “I’m sorry. About what Mrs. Jonas said, I mean.”

“It doesn’t matter.” That was a lie. It did matter. It hurt to be judged and wrongly accused. “We haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.” That much, at least, was true.

“All the same, it’s time I moved out to the bunkhouse.”

“But—”

“Doesn’t the Bible you read say you’re to avoid even the appearance of evil?”

His words stung. “Yes, but—”

Remington’s fingers tightened around hers. “Libby—”

The crack of rifle fire cut him off. Dirt flew up in front of the horses. In the next instant, the reins were ripped from her hands as the team bolted into an uncontrolled gallop.

Libby screamed as the wagon hit a rut and bounced into the air, tossing her over the seat and into the bed. She landed on her back amid the supplies, barely missing Sawyer’s head with her boot. The air
whooshed
from her lungs, and pain shot up her spine. She thought she heard another gunshot, but she couldn’t be sure over the thunder of horses’ hooves and the rattle and bang of the wagon.

Grabbing hold of whatever she could, she pulled herself to her knees and looked for Remington. He was leaning forward on the wagon seat, reaching for the errant reins.

Libby envisioned him falling forward beneath the runaway wagon. “Remington, don’t!”

He vaulted forward onto the rump of one of the horses, his hands grasping the harness as his lower torso and legs bounced dangerously close to the flying rear hooves of the animal.

The wagon hit another rut, and Libby was tossed backward a second time. Her head smacked against a barrel. For a moment everything dipped and whirled, but she fought the dizziness, righting herself again.

She couldn’t see Remington. The wagon seat blocked her view of the horses. Had he fallen off? How could he possibly hold on? What if—

She scrambled to her feet, whispering his name. The horses halted their breakneck gallop, tossing Libby forward. She grasped the wagon seat just in time to keep from falling yet again. That’s when she saw him, sitting astride the lead horse, pulling back, sawing with the reins, slowing the team. A rush of relief filled her heart.