Love Inspired Historical March 2014 Bundle: Winning Over the Wrangler\Wolf Creek Homecoming\A Bride for the Baron\The Guardian's Promise (9 page)

He let the notion flit about in his head like a sun-struck bird, then shot it down.

Even if he hadn't been a Duggan, he had nothing to offer a fine woman like Sybil.

“You and me will do just fine together,” he told Dawg, who fluttered his eyelids in acknowledgment. Or was it in disagreement? Dawg had made it clear he didn't want to leave the ranch. In fact, if it wasn't so far-fetched, Brand might think Dawg had challenged the cougar so they would be forced to return.

His dog wasn't that stupid.

And Brand wasn't dumb enough, nor reckless enough, to consider staying.

Chapter Nine

T
he next few days fell into a sort of pattern. Brand stayed at Dawg's side at night. During the day, he worked on the few horses left to break. If not for Dawg, Brand would have joined the other cowboys at the cookhouse for his meals. Or so he told himself. And tried to believe it.

Well, he might have if it wasn't his habit to stay away from human company as much as possible.

And—he tried to ignore the real reason—if Sybil didn't bring him supper most nights.

He was seven kinds of stupid for looking forward to her visits. Ten kinds of reckless. Should Pa or Cyrus learn of his friendship with her—

It didn't bear thinking about.

But how often did he scan the horizon, searching for any sign of them? Or listen in the hours just before dark for a familiar sound?

Each time he saw nothing, and heard nothing, he let his breath out slowly. Maybe this time they had decided to let him go.

He shook his head. He dare not hope.

The other cowboys had eaten and left the cookhouse. Eddie and Grady had disappeared inside the house some time ago. Brand waited at Dawg's side, hoping against all reason that Sybil would bring him a meal.

The time passed with all the reluctance of a winter sunrise. Maddeningly slow. Twice footsteps thudded toward the barn, but he knew they weren't hers. Too heavy. He pulled in a breath and held it, sucking back disappointment that some cowboy headed his way with a piled-high plate.

But the footsteps retreated without any offerings, and despite the growing pangs, he heaved a sigh that the cowboy didn't make it to the pen where he sat with Dawg.

And then soft footsteps approached and his heart rate picked up like a racing horse.

She stood at the pen with a plate of hot food. “Sorry I took so long. Grady was upset, because he wants a dog of his own and Eddie hasn't been able to find one, so I promised to make up a story for him.”

“Wasn't counting the hours.” Just the minutes. Brand took the plate. “Thanks.” He tried to concentrate on only the food, but how could he when Sybil sat so close, her fingers stroking Dawg's head? And how could he envy the animal? It wasn't as if he wanted to be all tore up and sewn back together. Though he suspected when he left, his heart would feel exactly like it had been ripped by cougar claws.

Not that the knowledge should slow his departure. The sooner he left, the better. Only Dawg's injuries kept him here. If he told himself that often enough, he might actually believe it.

Sure, Dawg needed a few days to heal, but that wasn't the main reason he stayed.

Something else bounced around in his head. A welcome diversion to the insistence of his brain that he should be planning to leave. “You make up stories?”

She studied him, her eyes wide. “Doesn't everyone? Don't you?”

“Can't say I do.” Sure, he sometimes thought of how things might be different. But that was as far as he got. “What sort of story did you make up for Grady?”

She looked away, pink staining her cheeks. “Just a silly little boy's story. It was nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Slowly, her gaze returned to his. “You'll think me foolish.”

“I doubt it. Tell me.” He longed to hear her story, hear her voice, enter into her imaginations. He'd love to take a story with him to warm his winter nights.

“Promise you won't laugh.”

“Not unless it's funny.”

“Once upon a time,” she began, her eyes darkening to deepest blue as she held him in her unblinking gaze, “there was a little boy, a big dog and a bird. They lived in a world full of flowers and mountains and rivers.”

She spun a tale of a boy who did heroic things, a dog with extraordinary powers and a bird who talked. They encountered challenges. The bird insisted they must obey God even when it was hard. They solved their problems, overcame obstacles, all while helping each other and those around them, and never telling a lie.

“And the boy climbed to the dog's back, the bird perched on his shoulder and they rode into the mountains, where they would encounter more adventures. The end.”

Brand blinked. “That was wonderful.” His food had grown cold as he listened, and he hurriedly cleaned the plate. “Have you ever considered writing the story down for others? Why, you could probably make a children's book.”

Her cheeks darkened. “I couldn't do that.”

“Why not? This is a story that both entertains and teaches. It's not the first you've told, is it?”

She shook her head. “I guess I have a vivid imagination.”

“Why not share it?”

“No one will publish stories written by a woman.”

“Really? That doesn't sound right. Who told you that?”

“An editor.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, fluttering in her lap like trapped birds. “He laughed me right out of the office. Besides, my parents wouldn't approve. They said a lady's name should not be public.” She brought her gaze to Brand's. “Doesn't God command us to honor our parents?”

His throat tightened at the way her eyes filled with darkness. She wanted this so badly it hurt, but she feared rejection. He caught her fluttering hands. “Things aren't always so easy and simple. Yes, we do well to obey God's rules, but when it comes to man-made rules, they aren't always in our best interests.” In Brand's case, obeying his father would be to break God's law.

“Obeying is the surest way to a peaceful life.”

He withdrew his hands. “I suspect it is, but life isn't always so neat and orderly. Sometimes, even when we do everything in our power to do what is right, bad things happen anyway.”

“I don't mean to imply they won't. It's just...” She rolled her head back and forth, then her expression grew fierce. “I can't bear to think of my stories being mocked because they are written by a woman.”

He realized they were back to talking about her writing, when his thoughts had shifted to his situation. “Well, all I can say is it's a shame you don't share your stories.”

“I share them with Grady.”

“He's a fortunate little boy.”

“Not because of my stories. But because Linette and Eddie love him like he was their own.”

“I thought he was.”

She told him how Grady's father had rejected him when Linette rescued him, after his mother died on the trip across the ocean.

The story ripped through Brand. Why couldn't fathers be what God intended them to be?

Sybil squeezed his hand. “God has provided for him just as He's promised to provide for all of us.”

Had Brand's expression revealed something that hinted at his distress over his pa? Was that why she offered comfort? He wanted to argue with her. Demand to know how God had provided for him. But of course God had given him an upright ma. That was all he'd needed. “Some are not as fortunate as Grady.”

She nodded, her eyes wide with sorrow. “How sad that you are right.”

Did she realize she clung to his hand? That her expression beseeched him to make the world better? He touched her cheek. “Don't let it sadden you. People learn to adjust to a lot of things.” He trailed his fingertip to the corner of her mouth and leaned closer.

She stiffened, pulled away. “What a tragic statement about mankind. We learn to adjust to bad things.” She sighed deeply. “Life should not be that way.”

He jerked his hands to his lap. Had he thought to kiss her? He must be losing his mind.

For certain, he was losing his grip on the reality of his situation. He shoved rock-hard determination into his heart. He could no longer act as if he lived in a make-believe world.

He cleaned his plate and held it out to her. “Thank you for bringing it, and thank Linette for me, please.”

Sybil took the plate, studied him for a heartbeat. No doubt saw he'd withdrawn, saw his dismissal. Surely she understood this was no place for a lady, and he was certainly not the kind of company a lady should keep.

With a nod, she got to her feet. “I'll tell her.”

As she crossed toward the gate, he almost changed his mind and asked her to stay a little longer.

But that would be downright stupid.

She turned before she shut the gate. “Good night, Brand. Good night, Dawg. Sleep well, both of you.”

“Good night,” he murmured, hoping he managed to keep all regret from his voice.

He should be saying goodbye.

* * *

Sybil slipped past the occupied living room, calling out, “I'm going to bed. Good night, all.”

She wondered if Mercy would trot after her, demanding to know why she didn't stop to visit, and probing her with questions about Brand, but after a few minutes, it seemed she wouldn't.

Sybil collapsed on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Brand had suggested she publish her stories. He meant the ones she told Grady. Had her heart not burned within her at his words? To be recognized as the author of the stories she published...to feel free to submit more...well, it filled her stomach with fluttering butterflies. And made her want to laugh. She was both thrilled and frightened at the idea.

Why had she not confessed she'd published stories under the Ellis West name?

She sat up and stared at her feet. Why had she not told him she wanted to write a story about him and submit it for publication?

Would he be so encouraging about her stories if she had? Would he still suggest there were times a person should step outside of safe boundaries?

She shivered—again with both fear and excitement. No doubt Brand followed his own rules. But where had that gotten him? Alone. Nameless. His only friend a dog that barely survived his wounds.

Brand was everything she didn't need or want.

What she needed and wanted was safety, security.... She pressed her lips tight and squeezed her eyes to stop the threatening tears. And the freedom to write and publish her stories under her own name.

At least she'd been able to publish as Ellis West. That was enough, she told herself.

She pulled out her notes and glanced over them. But she had very little to add.

Because, she realized with a start, in her visits to the barn she'd revealed more about herself than she'd discovered about Brand.

Tomorrow she would remedy the situation.

Questions she wanted to ask flitted through her brain, chased by the fact that she needed to be honest with him about her intention of writing his story.

Why bother telling him?

Because it feels underhanded to pretend I'm interested for any other reason.

Cough. Cough.
Wouldn't that be a lie?

She closed her mind to the inner voice. Truth or lie, she wouldn't admit there was any other reason.

Not unless she sought for a way to have her heart fractured into a million pieces. She didn't.

Why not convince him to stay?

Huh. I never thought of that.

Well, think about it. Maybe it's time for him to put his past behind him and face the future.

The next day her plan seemed even more reasonable, and she grinned at the basin of potatoes she was scrubbing for the meal. The grin clung to the lining of her heart and tickled the corners of her mouth later as she took a plate to Brand, leaving Sam Stone from the nearby OK Ranch visiting with Eddie and the others.

Sybil handed Brand the plate of food, then sat with her back against the wall of the pen. Would he guess she meant to have a serious, and perhaps long, talk with him?

He settled down beside her and began to eat.

She shifted to study him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Don't see how I can stop you. But I don't have to answer.”

She'd thought carefully about how to approach the subject. If she came at it indirectly, perhaps he wouldn't resist her questions.

“Don't you get lonely?”

* * *

His fist curled against his leg. His heart tightened so each beat hurt as if it squeezed out shards of blood. “I got Dawg.”

The twitch of her eyebrows informed him she thought the answer less than adequate.

Brand looked at his plate of food. He looked at Dawg, who rested at his feet.
Lonely?
The word didn't half describe the empty hours, the silent days, the cold nights. Any more than it described the constant pressure at the back of his neck as he watched for the sudden appearance of the Duggan gang. Being alone hurt. But it sure beat having Pa and Cyrus for company.

Brand couldn't continue to ignore Sybil. Her gaze bored into him.

“Something really dreadful must have happened in your life to make you constantly run.” She waited, an expectant silence in which his heart strained at its seams.

He could deny it, but knew she wouldn't believe him. “Guess you could say that.”

“I'm supposing it's why you won't reveal your surname.”

I'm a no-good Duggan
. His nerves twitched. He'd been here longer than was wise. But he couldn't leave. Not because of the horses. Not because of Dawg. Even though he knew he might have cause to wish he wasn't so foolish, he couldn't tear himself away from her company.

Nor could he tear himself away from the look in her eyes offering hope and so much more.

She smiled so gently it loosened the cruel fist around his heart.

“You could stop running. Confront your past.”

“If only I could.” He touched her cheek. Soft as a dewy rose petal. Pink as an autumn sunrise. The color no doubt heightened by his bold touch. “You almost persuade me.” If anything could change his circumstances he would stay. Forever. Content to be in the circle of her smile.

“I wish it could be more than almost. Think about it, won't you?” And she placed her hand over his, pressing it firmly to her cheek.

“Would it matter to you?”

She lowered her lashes to hide her eyes, then met his gaze, her eyelashes fluttering. “It matters,” she whispered. “I pray you'll find what you need.”