Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (20 page)

She allowed them to lead her to a chair. “There's nothing to report. I merely told him a few things about my childhood.”

Mercy groaned. “Now there's a way to make a man feel insignificant.”

“What do you mean?” Sybil had no such intention.

“You adored your father. He could do no wrong. He gave you everything you ever dreamed of. How can a homeless cowboy hope to compete with that?”

Had she made Brand feel insignificant? Perhaps she inadvertently had. Now she must find a way to fix her mistake. To make him see that it was the love of her parents that blessed her, not their gifts.

It was love she wanted. Not things. Could she make him understand that?

Chapter Sixteen

B
rand took his time about returning to the bunkhouse. He needed to think. And he couldn't do it with the other cowboys asking questions or looking as if they'd die if they didn't ask one. Though to be honest, none had done either. For the most part they weren't any more interested in him than he was in them.

Sybil's words tortured his brain.

Raised with privilege and prestige. Given everything. He'd always known that, so why did it now fill him with regret? Even with his name purged of the Duggan gang guilt, he was still a nobody cowboy with nothing to offer to a gal like Sybil Bannerman.

He eased open the bunkhouse door, but it squealed like a pig. Someone ought to oil the hinges. Half a dozen heads swung toward him, then returned to what they'd been doing. He was of no interest to any of them. Just a man doing a job.

He flung himself on his bunk and turned his back to the others. He had no wish to join them in a game of cards, or sing sad songs about lonely cowboys. His own sadness throbbed in his heart. Why sing of it when he lived it?

The truth could not be denied. Sybil was out of the realm of possibility. He should leave. Move on. But her challenge to forget being a Duggan rang in his ears. He was through running from the Duggan gang. Besides, he'd given his word to Eddie, and a man was only as good as his word.

The next day he still considered his options. Perhaps he could ask Eddie to send him to the far corner of the ranch. But Eddie had already dispatched riders to bring down the cows in preparation for the soon-to-be fall roundup.

Besides, somewhere deep inside Brand a happy thought warred with the lingering idea of riding away.

If he stayed around he could hope to see more of Sybil. It was a futile, foolish idea, but what harm could possibly come of it? Her interest in him was surely no more than curiosity or politeness.

He alone would bear the pain of their final goodbye, either when he forced himself to move on or when she returned to England. There would be a pain for every pleasure, but it would be worth it.

He glanced at the house up the hill as he left the cookhouse with Slim to fix the fences of the wintering pens. Did he see someone at the window? Was it Sybil? Just in case, he touched the brim of his hat in a pretense of adjusting its position.

A few hours later he and Slim put down their tools and headed to the cookhouse for dinner.

“You done good,” Slim said. “I appreciate a hard worker.”

“Just doin' my job.”

Slim slapped him on the back. “You'll do just fine here. Glad to have you on the crew.”

Crew? As if he belonged? Could it be possible?

Brand and Slim returned to the task after a satisfying meal, and worked throughout the afternoon.

Slim didn't say much, which left Brand lots of time for thinking. Try as he did with every bit of energy he could muster to avoid one topic, his thoughts continually circled back to Sybil.

Would she again traipse down the hill after supper and spend a precious hour or two with him? He grinned in anticipation even as he told himself it was a foolish wish. Then, hoping Slim hadn't noticed his silly grin, he forced it away.

Later, as soon as he'd scraped his plate clean after two helpings of Cookie's mashed potatoes, gravy, roast beef and carrots, he left the cookhouse and parked himself by the barn door. Someone had lit the lantern hanging there and he stood at the edge of the circle of light. Sybil could see him if she cared to check. He told himself he wasn't waiting, even though his gaze was glued to the house up the hill.

When the door opened and the light flashed golden, his breath caught partway down his throat.

Dawg rose and whined eagerly. “Settle down,” Brand murmured to the animal, and told himself the same.

A door slammed to his left and children's voices called out.

Both he and Dawg shifted their gaze in that direction. The foreman's three oldest children scampered down the trail toward them.

Dawg whined again.

“You like kids?” It surprised Brand, though they'd never been around children much, so maybe the dog had always been this way.

Dawg, taking Brand's surprise for disapproval, flopped down and put his head on his paws.

“It's okay. Kids are kind of...” He had no idea what word to use.
Friendly. Innocent. Accepting
. Maybe all that and more.

The children drew abreast. Neil, the oldest boy, saw Brand first. “Hi. We're going to get Grady and play tag.”

At that moment, Sybil reached the corrals. Although his attention was on the youngsters, he'd been aware of her the whole time. Every step she took closer made his heart beat stronger, until it now thumped against his ribs like a trapped animal trying to escape.

She spoke to the children, who paused long enough to respond to her greeting, then she turned toward Brand, the width of the corral separating them. “Nice evening, isn't it?”

He had paid scant attention, but now realized the full golden moon gave everything a shimmering appearance. The warm kiss of a gentle evening breeze brushed against his cheek. He inhaled the scent of fresh hay and poplar leaves. “Very nice,” he murmured.

“It's a perfect evening for a walk.” Her words carried warmth and welcome. “Care to join me?”

Brand jolted from the wall. He swallowed hard and forced himself to saunter, when every muscle wanted to gallop. “Sounds like a fine idea.” He fumbled with the gate, his fingers stiff, and finally managed to release the latch and slip through. “Where are we going?”

Her merry laugh sang through the air, danced through his veins and vibrated in his heart. “Do we need a destination? Can't we simply enjoy the evening?”

He could have said they wouldn't need to move from this spot and the evening would be special enough to stay in his thoughts the rest of his life. Instead, he managed one word. “Sure.” And fell in at her side. His arm brushed hers, sending a rush of tingles up his skin.

They walked west, toward the foreman's house. Lamplight filled the windows. They saw Roper and Cassie in matching rocking chairs talking to each other. Cassie's back was to them, but Roper faced them, a smile of pure contentment filling his expression.

“He looks happy.” The words were out before Brand could stop them.

“I expect he is. He's gone from a lonely man raised in an orphanage and never knowing family, to a man loved and adored by a wife and a ready-made family.”

They passed the house.

Sybil sighed. “Kind of makes you envy him, doesn't it?”

Brand had thought exactly that, but it seemed weak to say it. And why would she think such a thing? She'd been raised in a loving home. Of course, she was now an orphan. “Do you plan to return to England?”

She hesitated long enough for his lungs to ache for air.

He remembered he had to breathe.

“It's the only home I have.”

You could stay here
. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he bit them back. He had nothing to offer her. No fine house. No abundance of books. Nothing. So he kept silent.

The children ran down the path behind them calling, “Not it.” Thor, the fawn, raced after them, darting from one to the other.

They drew closer. Dawg whined and looked back.

“Do you want to play with them?” Brand asked.

The dog gave a little bark.

“Go ahead. Suit yourself.” He never would have guessed Dawg would want this.

But Dawg yapped and ran toward the children, his wounds completely forgotten. The youngsters halted and waited, uncertain about Dawg's behavior. Thor bounced a safe distance away and watched the dog with wide eyes.

“He wants to play,” Brand said.

Neil crouched down and held out a hand.

Dawg went eagerly, squirming with excitement. Suddenly all the children surrounded him, then backed away, calling him, as Dawg ran from one to the other, barking happily.

Daisy turned toward the adults. “Do you want to play tag?”

Sybil grabbed Brand's arm. Her fingers dug into his muscle. He couldn't tell if it signaled fear or anticipation. Was she afraid of the children? Or did she long to play with them? He was about to say no when Billy tagged Sybil.

“You're it and you can't catch me.”

The children closed around them, teasing her to catch them. Brand had instinctively stepped away from her so he became part of the circle.

In the moonlight her eyes were dark and unreadable, but her lips were parted as if surprise held her immobile.

Billy darted toward her. “Catch me if you can.”

She scrubbed her lips together, considering the challenge, and then darted toward the boy.

He shrieked and ran away. The other children scattered.

Brand ran, too. He'd played this game many times as a child. Often with Cyrus thudding after him. His heart clenched. He missed Cyrus. Not the man who had become part of the Duggan gang, but the big brother who had played with him. He lost his concentration and turned to look up the hill toward the little graveyard. Even if the sun shone overhead he couldn't see from where he stood, but he knew the exact location of Pa and Cyrus's final resting place. Would he see them both along with Ma in the hereafter?

He realized footsteps raced toward him, and ducked away.

They played a rowdy game of tag with the children, catching and being caught their share of times.

He was it again, having been tagged by Neil. The children raced off, disappearing in the shadows. But Sybil's golden hair caught the moonlight and gave away her position. He knew if he raced toward her, she would run the opposite direction, so he tiptoed in a roundabout way until he came up behind her. She strained forward, listening for his approach, ready to take flight. For a heartbeat, two, three, he didn't move. He simply stood there taking in the fact of his freedom. For the first time in many years he could take part in a simple game of tag without glancing over his shoulder, fearing the Duggan gang.

Grinning for a dozen different reasons, he tiptoed forward.

Sybil must have heard him, for she turned just as he reached forward to tag her. His hand caught her arm. “You're it.”

Was that hoarse voice his?

“Oh, you. Sneaking up on a girl like that.”

“All's fair.” In love and war. He felt suspended between the two. The war of outrunning Pa and Cyrus was over. But he was not ready to believe he could love and be loved. He hadn't felt that way since Ma died. Not that that was the sort of love he ached for. When had his thoughts gotten so muddled? He released her arm and called, “Sybil's it.”

The children dashed by her, teasing and tempting her to chase them.

The game continued in the cool, moon-drenched evening until a rectangle of light shone from either end of the ranch and Linette and Cassie called out to their respective children. “Come in now. It's bedtime.”

The little ones stopped their play and sighed. Then, calling good-night over their shoulders, they trotted home.

Sybil chuckled. “That was fun. It's the first time I played tag.”

He stared at her. “You're joshing.”

“No, really.”

“That's positively unnatural. Tag is a favorite children's game.” They fell in step, side by side, and walked to the bridge.

She shrugged one shoulder. “I had other amusements.”

“Like what?”

“My books and papers. I loved making my own paper dolls.”

He thought it best not to say that a normal childhood had its share of rowdy play.

“These children are very fortunate.” Her voice carried a note of wistfulness.

He could name a number of ways that was true, but wanted to know what she meant, and asked her.

“They are loved by people who haven't any obligation to love them.”

“That's a fact. Linette is to have a baby soon. Won't Grady feel misplaced?”

Sybil laughed gently. “Linette and Eddie aren't like that. Nor are Roper and Cassie. A child of their union won't cause them to love the other children any less.”

“How can you be so certain?”

She looked into his face, studying him, perhaps wondering if there was a reason behind his question. Maybe there was. Pa had loved him, of that he was certain. But his love was on again, off again, depending on whether or not Pa felt Brand did what he wanted. And because Brand mostly hadn't, he'd often felt his father didn't really love him. Not like he did Cyrus.

Sybil rubbed her warm palm along Brand's arm. “My father taught me love is both a feeling and a choice. Even when you don't feel the emotion, you choose to love.”

“That sounds pretend.”

“No. It sounds real.”

He decided to change the subject. “I expect there is someone back in England hoping to marry you.” She'd never mentioned it, but he could imagine many suitors beat a pathway to her door.

She gave his arm a harmless tap, then withdrew her hand.

Funny how he suddenly felt cold. And alone.

“Do you really think I'd go out walking with you if someone back home had asked for my hand?”

“No. Why are you walking with me?” He wanted to slam his head against the nearest post. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut around her?

“Why do you think?”

He turned her so the moonlight fell directly on her face. He saw uncertainty in her eyes and something more. Was it...? No. It couldn't be.

But before he could marshal a response, she tucked her arm around his elbow and drew him along the path.

“I enjoy the children here. I've never been around many before. I hope to marry someday, and have more than one child, so they wouldn't be lonely. But that's in God's hands, isn't it?”

Brand's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. What was in God's hands? Marriage or children?

They reached the top of the hill and stopped. She turned her face up to him with an expectant look. Did she want to be kissed? He couldn't believe that's what her glance meant. But had all this talk of children and new beginnings made her forget that Brand was a Duggan? A homeless, penniless cowboy? He'd kissed her once. Out of gratitude. If he kissed her now it would be for an entirely different reason. Would she welcome his interest? Or find him presumptuous and far too bold? He weighed his options.