Robin Lee Hatcher (19 page)

Libby reined Lightning to a halt. “I think we’d better stop for the night.”

“How much farther is it?” Remington asked as he drew up beside her.

“At least another five hours. We can’t make it before nightfall, and I don’t want to attempt to find McGregor after dark, not even with a full moon.”

Remington’s gaze swept the area. Then he pointed to a spot not far off the trail that was sheltered by an outcropping of rocks on one side. “That looks like a good place to make camp.”

With a nod, Libby nudged her gelding forward, leading the way up the gentle slope of hillside to the chosen campsite. She dismounted as soon as she reached the level area, which offered a vista of the valley below. With easy, practiced motions, she unsaddled Lightning.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the way Remington favored his leg as he stepped down from the saddle. He grimaced as he rubbed his thigh.

She shouldn’t have let him come. That thought caused her to smile. She could imagine the argument that would have started. If she’d learned nothing else about Remington, she’d learned he was a determined man. He didn’t order or command, but neither was he easily sidetracked from his goals. She supposed that was one of the things she loved about him.

As she pulled two cans of beans from the saddlebag, she allowed her thoughts to drift back over the past six weeks. Did love happen like this for everyone? Did it take them by surprise, maybe even against their will? Did it swallow them up, consume them, make them forget everything else?

That’s what it was like for her. It was a glorious discovery, a miracle, that she could feel this way. When she refused to marry a man she didn’t—and couldn’t—love, she hadn’t known that the emotion could feel like this. More than ever, she was glad she’d refused to settle for less.

She glanced across the camp and watched Remington and Sawyer hobble the horses and turn them out to graze.

Perhaps one day she would be able to tell Remington everything. Perhaps one day she would be able to tell him about her father and mother, about a girl named Olivia Vanderhoff, about how Remington had renewed her faith in love and trust.

Perhaps one day, but not now. She didn’t want to spoil the present with old heartaches.

Later that night, with a full moon rising over the eastern mountains and the heavens scattered with winking stars, Remington lay on the ground with an arm behind his head, staring upward. Long ago, when he was about seven years old, he and his father had camped out under the stars. Jefferson Walker had been home from the war about two months. The night air was filled with the sweet smell of jasmine and the sounds of bullfrogs. He remembered the honey cake Naomi, their cook, had baked for him and the musty smell of the tent his father had pitched.

Why did you give up, Father? Why didn’t you keep trusting
in God?

He turned his head. Across the fire from him, Libby slept on her side, her knees drawn up toward her chest. Soft moonlight caressed her face, turning her pale hair silver, erasing the freckles on her nose and the worry that so often filled her eyes. Wisps free of her braid curled about her ears and face.

I love you, Libby Blue.

As if hearing his thoughts, Libby opened her eyes. A gentle smile bowed her mouth. “Did you say something, Mr. Walker?”

“You’re beautiful in the moonlight, Miss Blue.”

“I’ve never cared if anyone thought me beautiful. Not until I met you.” She let out a soft breath, almost a sigh but not quite. “You’ve taken away so many of my fears, Remington. I will love you forever, if only for that alone.”

He longed to rise from the ground and go to her. He longed to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both dizzy. But he stayed on his blanket. “You don’t have to be afraid of anything, Libby. Not ever again. I promise.”

He swore to himself that this was one promise he would never break.

Twenty

REMINGTON LIKED ALISTAIRMCGREGOR FROM the moment they first shook hands. Short of stature and wiry, McGregor had a tanned face, weathered by years in the elements, thinning dark hair streaked with gray, and an ironlike grip. His gaze was direct, unwavering.

“So ye’re still here, Mr. Walker. I thought ye’d be gone when yer leg was mended.” The sheep herder sounded like a suspicious father.

“No, I plan to stay.”

“Is that so? And why is that, if I might ask?”

Remington glanced at Libby, then back at McGregor. “I’ve asked Miss Blue to marry me.”

McGregor’s expression didn’t change in the least as he turned toward Libby. “And ye’ve said aye, lass?”

She nodded.

“Would ye mind tellin’ me why?”

“Because, McGregor, I love him.”

“Ye think him a good man?”

“I do.”

The
smile curving the sheep herder’s mouth was infinitesimal. “Then I’m glad for ye. ’Tis a celebration we’ll have tonight. Can ye tell me when the blessed union is t’take place?”

Remington put his arm around Libby’s shoulders. “I’ve got business to settle back east, but I hope it won’t take me more than a few weeks. Then I’ll be on the next train headed west. We’ll marry upon my return.”

“I’ve longed t’see this lass happy, and it seems ye are makin’ her so. Come an’ rest a moment an’ tell me all about yerself, Mr. Walker.”

For the next few minutes, Remington told the Scot what he could, then ended by saying, “I’m open to suggestions on what I can do to be of help to Libby. How can we keep the Blue Springs the best sheep ranch in the territory?”

“Ye could stop that thievin’ coward Bevins, for starters.” McGregor grinned as he looked at Libby. “But ’tis not the time for such talk now. Ronald will be wantin’ t’hear yer news, lass. He willna forgive us if we tarry any longer.”

The proprietress of the Pine Station general store took only a quick glance at the photograph before handing it back to Gil O’Reilly. “Yes, I’ve seen him. He was here in my store not more than a week ago. Stood right there where you’re standing now.” She lifted her chin, her expression disapproving. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn Mr. Walker’s in trouble with the law. Is that why you’re here?”

“No, madam, ’tis not. Mr. Walker is a friend of mine.” O’Reilly offered a friendly smile. “Would it be too much trouble t’ask where I might find him?”

“He’s at the Blue Springs Ranch. Goodness only knows what he’s doing there.” She clucked her tongue. “And her with that boy living under her roof, too. It’s disgraceful. Positively disgraceful. That’s what it is.”

Since Mrs. Jonas seemed in the mood to talk, O’Reilly would let her.

“Shameful.” She shook her head. “Libby Blue should have sold that ranch after her aunt died. It’s not proper for a young, unmarried woman to be living out there without another woman present, not with men in her employ. Not that there’s as many men working for her these days.” The woman pursed her lips as if she’d sucked on a lemon. “She doesn’t fool me that Mr. Walker is working for her, either. I’ve been told he’s livin’ in the house. Livin’ right in that house with her.”

O’Reilly shook his head and made sympathetic sounds in his throat.

“Well.” The woman drew herself up stiff as a board. “You can surely see why I don’t think much of your friend.”

“That I can, madam, and I’ll see what I can do t’spirit him away from this Jezebel’s clutches.” Again he gave her a smile. “Now, if you’ll be good enough t’tell me how t’find this ranch, I’ll be on my way.”

A few minutes later, O’Reilly walked out of the general store with a lightness in his step. If his instincts were right—and they usually were—he’d not only found Remington Walker, he’d found Vanderhoff’s missing daughter.

But Remington had found her first. So why hadn’t he sent word to Vanderhoff? From all O’Reilly could ascertain, Remington had been in the area for nigh onto two months.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this woman, this Libby Blue, wasn’t the Vanderhoff girl.

O’Reilly stepped into the small black buggy he’d rented in Boise City. Once settled on the seat, he picked up the reins and clucked to the horse, starting down the road in the direction of the Blue Springs Ranch.

Remington frowned as he listened to McGregor. Would he get enough money from the sale of his home in New York and his other assets to pay back the Vanderhoff advance
and
put the Blue Springs on firm footing?

“Teddy!” Libby shouted, drawing Remington’s attention.

She stood on the opposite side of the meadow where the sheep grazed. Her hat hung against her back from its leather string around her neck. She whistled and motioned with an outstretched arm. Teddy, a black-and-white collie, raced up the hillside after several ewes. The dog darted back and forth, keeping the sheep together, pushing just enough to move them down the hillside, but not so much he caused them to bolt, his actions precise and lightning quick.

When the ewes rejoined the flock, Remington’s gaze returned to Libby. He heard her words of praise to the sheepdog, but it was Libby who earned his admiration.

It couldn’t have been easy for her, these past years. She was raised in ease and opulence. One of her ball gowns would have paid a sheepherder’s salary for an entire year, if not two. Despite adversity and hardship, she had molded herself into the woman he saw before him—capable, independent, determined.

What would Northrop think of his daughter now?

The thought made him grin. He’d grown so used to seeing Libby in trousers and boots, her hair in a braid, a wide-brimmed hat flopping against her back, that he thought nothing of it. Northrop Vanderhoff and all the Knickerbockers would be shocked. Idiots! She was exquisite just as she was. Remington would love her until his dying day. Of that there was no question.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Libby looked up, her gaze catching his from across the meadow. She smiled, and even across the distance that separated them, he saw the trust and love in her eyes. He prayed he was worthy of it.

Pete Fisher sat astride his draft horse. The animal’s pace was plodding at best, and Pete’s mind wandered aimlessly, as if keeping time with the horse’s gait.

He was tired after a long day in the fields. All that was left was to milk Libby’s cow, check the sheep in the paddock, and feed the dog and her pups. Then he could go home, sit down to supper, and call it a day. Of course, tomorrow morning, before dawn, he would be riding back to the Blue Springs to repeat the chores, but he didn’t really mind. He owed a lot to Libby Blue—and to her aunt before her. Without the water from the springs, the Fishers wouldn’t have a farm to work. If Bevins ever got hold of Libby’s ranch, the creek would dry up quicker than a keg of cider at a barn raising.