High Mountain Drifter (2 page)

"That's okay. Mine's been known to do that."

"I need to hobble mine like a runaway horse, then I'd be able to find it when I need it." Verbena grinned. Honestly, she must look like no one was home upstairs. She shook her head at herself. "Thanks, Gemma. Sorry, I guess all these beautiful choices are too much for my poor meager brain to handle."

"Although, I can understand why you were gazing out the window. I can't blame you there. It's a mighty fine view." Gemma pushed a lock of stray black hair out of her eyes to glance at the muscled, masculine cowboys standing outside, alert and ready for any possible danger.

"True, they are mighty fine to look at, but I wasn't
looking
at them." Verbena remembered a time not so long ago when she used to dream of finding the perfect man, her one true love. But no more. "I've given up hope when it comes to the male gender."

"Me, too." With a wistful sigh, Gemma seized her pencil and scribbled the price of the skein of floss into her account book. "Although that doesn't stop my gaze from drifting over there now and again. Oh, not that I'm seriously looking, mind you. I'm just thankful they're here to protect you after what happened. I can't believe you're out and about. If I were you, I'd never leave my house again."

"Right. That would be the sensible solution." Verbena glanced over her shoulder at three of her four sisters who'd come along with her on the trip to town. They were hovering, and it was making her itchy. She hated that they had to worry. "Unfortunately I've been cooped up with my sisters and I couldn't take it anymore. Let me out, I said."

"Yeah, sure." Gemma smiled, as if she wasn't fooled one bit, and wrapped up the embroidery thread in a small square of brown paper. "I would have liked to have sisters."

"It's over-rated." Verbena shrugged, teasing, waiting for the inevitable comment from one of the hoverers.

"I heard that. I'd take offense, but it's true." Magnolia, her older sister, sauntered up with a grin. She was always light-hearted even with her face covered in cuts and bruises and her thumb in a splint. Magnolia had been taken that night too. "I had to get out of that house. So much fussing. You get kidnapped at gunpoint one time in the middle of the night, and everyone gets crazy protective. I'm surprised Rose has let us wander more than four feet away from her in the store."

"Yes, it's a complete shocker." Verbena leaned to the side to cast a glance around the pickle barrel, biting back a smile. Her next older sister, Rose, turned from the display of colorful sewing thread. "Any moment she'll come charging over here to check on us."

"Hey, I can hear you." With her sunny blond curls tumbling over her shoulders, Rose arched a brow in their direction. Mischief glimmered in her blue eyes. She reached for a bobbin of purple thread to inspect before she headed their way, her lavender dress swirling around her. "We're not being overprotective, we're being sensible."

"Overprotective," Verbena whispered to Gemma, who was watching them all with great amusement.

"You had better enjoy this outing," Rose declared informatively as she added her spool of thread to the purchases on the front counter. "Because I don't think it's going to happen again anytime soon. Look at Iris. She's nearly hyperventilating."

"Oh, I'm not hyperventilating," a voice called out from behind a big stack of fabric bolts. "What I am is seething. I just spotted the sheriff through the front window. Walking down the boardwalk as easy-as-you-please without a care in the world. Looks like he's whistling.
Whistling.
I ought to march over there and give him a piece of my mind."

"But he already has one of those," Magnolia teased gently, and tossed Verbena a conspiratorial wink.

Okay, she couldn’t help herself. She had to join in the teasing. It was one of the laws of sisterhood.

"Yeah," she agreed sweetly. "If you give away too many pieces of your mind, Iris, you won't have any left."

"That would be a travesty," Magnolia agreed. "Then we'd be able to say, poor Iris has lost her mind. Literally."

"Please. No puns." Iris circled into view in a light blue dress, her heart-shaped face scrunched up with mock annoyance. Her strawberry-blond hair was mussed from the windy drive into town, and she didn't look herself. Normally every hair was in place, but dark smudges bruised the skin beneath her blue eyes, a sign she'd been so upset by recent circumstances that she hadn't been sleeping well.

Clearly unhappy, she plunked a new crochet hook onto the front counter. "You two can make all the jokes you want. We can't go anywhere without armed guards and look at that sheriff. He's just all la-de-da when Ernest is on the loose. Milo Gray is the law in this town. He is supposed to be protecting us."

"He did the right thing that night," Verbena said quietly, laying a hand on her oldest sister's arm. She loved her sister for caring so much, but Milo had made the best decision that he could under the circumstances. As hard as it was to know Ernest was out there on the loose, that he still hunted her, she was glad Milo had called off the search. "I would never want anyone to get hurt on my behalf."

"He should have caught that man, he shouldn't have stopped chasing him."

"It was blizzarding up there on the mountain when the men rescued me. Milo had to make that decision. What if there had been an avalanche, or one of the horses slid down a snowy slope? Someone could have been killed and I can't live with that. I have enough on my conscience already."

Understanding flashed in Iris's periwinkle blue eyes, but her jaw stayed firmly clenched. She wasn't giving up her anger at the sheriff.

I'll soften her up eventually, Verbena thought as she tucked her package of floss into her pocket. She may have to work hard at it, but it was a worthy cause. She liked the sheriff, he was a kind man and a widower with two small girls. She also liked the way he looked at Iris, as if she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. That was promising, well, except for Iris's current opinion of him, she thought, backing away from the counter and bumping into the pickle barrel.

Oops. She whirled around, righted the lid she'd knocked ajar and wrinkled her nose at the strong, sour brine scent. When she took a step back, the scent clung to her. Had some of it spilled on her? Oh, probably, she thought, tightening her grip on her cane. This was a new dress. If it got smelly right before this afternoon's get-together, then she'd either have to wear an older dress or pluck one out of the laundry basket--or just infect everyone with her pickly fumes. She did the only thing she could do--take a step back and inspect her skirt. Fortunately she didn't see a single spot of pickle juice on the pretty calico. Whew.

"That was a close call," Gemma commented, concerned, stepping out from behind the front counter. "I did that just yesterday and smelled like pickles all afternoon. I think customers noticed."

"I lucked out, but it was a near thing." Verbena grinned, trying to hide the fact that she felt off-balance, not that she wanted anyone to know how she was feeling. It hadn't been easy being kidnapped, the anger she felt at Ernest still bubbled up at unexpected times, but mostly she didn't want her sisters to worry. Or Gemma either. "I just need to learn to watch where I'm going."

"You've been trying to learn that lesson for a long while," Magnolia joked. "I have too."

"Are you two ready to go?" Iris asked, thanking Gemma for the crochet hook she'd wrapped up nice and neat. "I'll feel better once we're safely home."

Frankly, Verbena had spent enough time at home. She wanted to be out doing something, being useful, taking care of the people she loved. She gazed out the window longingly as the rest of her sisters buttoned up coats and pulled on gloves, ready to leave.

"Thanks for coming by, McPhee sisters." Gemma circled around the counter and opened the door for them. "It looks like you are all set for an afternoon of sewing."

"We are," Iris said, smiling at Gemma. They were probably the same age, around thirty, and both had gentle, quiet personalities.

"We're having a few friends over," Magnolia spoke up, nearly knocking into the pickle barrel too.

"Oh, that sounds like fun." For a second, a wistful little look passed across Gemma's face before she shook it away. "Well, I hope you have a good time. Who all is coming?"

"Maebry from the Rocking M," Verbena said on her way through the doorway.

"Maebry and I have been friends for years." Gemma smiled warmly, lighting up. "She is such a sweetheart."

"She is, and we love her." Verbena hesitated on the boardwalk, breathing in the rain and damp scent of the storm-drenched little town. Come to think of it, Gemma spent a lot of time running her father's store. Maybe she didn't have much of a chance to socialize. "Elise Hutchinson is coming too. Oh, and the new schoolteacher. Penelope Shalvis."

"Oh, I've known Elise for ages." Gemma followed Iris out the door and stood in the threshold, arms crossed against the chill. "Miss Shalvis has been in several times to pick up a few things for the place she rented. She seems very nice."

"Yes, she does," Verbena answered, mind turning thoughtfully as her sisters crossed the boardwalk, heading toward the waiting buckboard. Cowboys leaped to stay ahead of them. She had to wonder if maybe Gemma liked to sew, too.

"Have a lovely time," Gemma was saying. "Thanks for coming by. Take care of your ankle, Verbena."

"I will be off this thing--" She held up her cane "--the next time I come."

She almost walked away with the rest of her sisters, but something held her back. Gemma seemed so lonely and overworked. Verbena knew how that felt. When they'd lived in Chicago, there had been no time for friends between her parents' illnesses and working hard afterward to pay off debts and make ends meet. They'd been very poor, struggling to scrape by.

But then their life circumstances had changed. Receiving a big house and a fat inheritance could do that. But she hadn't forgotten what it had been like to be trapped in poverty or to feel so lonely for a close friend, someone aside from her sisters. She glanced over her shoulder at her sisters merrily chatting as they settled into the buckboard and brushing rain off their bonnets.

"Gemma, would you like to come this afternoon?" she asked on impulse. "We would love to have you, get to know you better."

"Oh. Really, that's nice of you, thinking to include me, but you've already made your plans. I'd hate to intrude." She blushed furiously and pushed a lock of black hair out of her eyes, looking uncomfortable. As if she were used to being on the outside.

Verbena hung her head, gripping her cane tightly. She knew how that felt, too.

"You wouldn’t be intruding." She met Gemma's gaze, making it clear. Very clear. This wasn't a pity-ask, nothing of the sort. "In fact, you'd be doing us a favor. We're fairly new here, and we haven't had a lot of time to make friends or get to know the people who've been friendly to us. We like you. Do you think you could come?"

"Oh, well." Gemma bit her lip as she considered. "Yes, I'd love to. If my father will let me off for the afternoon."

"Excellent. Tell him this is very important, you know, since we're customers." Verbena winked, liking how happy Gemma now looked. "We're having lunch at one, with soup and sandwiches for everyone."

"That sounds really nice." Delight flickered in Gemma's eyes as she nodded. It looked as if she'd do her best to make it. "I'll talk to Pa."

"Excellent. We'll look forward to seeing you." She backed across the boardwalk. "Bring some sewing to do, although you probably already figured that out."

"I did." Gemma smiled wide, happy, and waved as she stepped back into the shop.

"Hurry up, Verbena!" Magnolia shouted from the buckboard. "The cowboys are restless. They want to get moving--"

"Excuse me," a debonair male voice interrupted, dragging Verbena's attention away from her sister. Lawrence Latimer strode around gruff, tough Burton, who was the last cowboy standing guard on the boardwalk (the others were untying the horses, scanning the street, mounting up). Clearly Burton did not think Lawrence was a danger.

No one would. Thin, short, awkward, Lawrence swept off his bowler hat and grinned widely, which hiked up the ends of his handlebar mustache. "How are you today, my fair lady?"

"Hello, Mr. Latimer." She'd seen him around town, often trailing behind her. He was a strange little fellow with his ill fitting clothes--perhaps they were secondhand and not made for him--and his over-eager awkwardness. She felt sorry for him, but was she interested? No, but she was obligated to be kind. "I'm fine today. How are you?"

"Splendid."

"Good." She nodded, heading toward the steps and the buckboard beyond where her sisters were gesturing for her to join them. She was holding them up, making them wait. She took a bigger step and winced when her ankle complained.

"I couldn't help hearing about your ordeal." Lawrence leaped to accompany her across the boardwalk. He gestured with his hat, still clutched in his hand, in the direction of her cane. "I'll have you know I was one of the men who volunteered to ride that night. I saddled up and joined the sheriff's posse. I wasn't with the posse that found you, but we did important work combing the other side of the mountain searching for you."

"Yes, of course you did." She stopped, turned toward him, thinking of all the people who'd been dragged out of their warm beds and homes and into the brutally frigid night for her sake. She owed them all a debt of gratitude, including Mr. Latimer. "Thank you so much. I owe my life to men like you."

"Well, I do what I can." Lawrence straightened his rather slumped shoulders, puffing out his chest. "I--"

"Move along, Latimer," Burton barked, knuckling back his Stetson to glare at the man. "We don't have time to chit-chat. Let's get you into the buckboard, Verbena."

"Sorry to hold you all up," she told the cowboy. Everyone was waiting, but she didn't want to be rude. After all, Lawrence had potentially put himself at risk on her behalf that night. The storm could have been deadly, not to mention Ernest. She gripped the rail tightly in her free hand as she limped down the steps to the street. "Thanks again, Mr. Latimer. Have a nice afternoon."