Robin Lee Hatcher (20 page)

After meeting Remington Walker, Pete figured he needn’t worry about Bevins. Remington seemed the sort of man who rarely failed in what he set out to do. Bevins wouldn’t be able to make any more trouble at the Blue Springs, not now that Remington and Libby were getting married. Pete would bet the farm on it.

“Guess that’s exactly what I’m doing. Betting the farm.”

As he crested a rise, he saw the rooftops of the house and barn above the grove of trees that surrounded the Blue Springs Ranch. He also heard the muffled but persistent barking of the dog. Something was wrong.

He kneed his horse, forcing the animal into a bone-jarring trot, and rode down the hillside and into the trees. Just as he broke into the clearing, he saw a man leave the house.

“Hey!” he shouted.

The stranger looked over his shoulder, then hopped into the buggy and whipped the horse into a gallop, disappearing almost instantly around the side of the house. Pete gave chase, but it was pointless on his old horse. The intruder’s buggy was already out of sight.

He returned to the yard. Misty, shut up inside the barn, was still barking. He dismounted and opened the barn door.

“Misty, quiet,” he commanded, hoping the dog would recognize his voice. When she obeyed, he reached down and patted her head. “Come on. Let’s see what he was up to.”

Pete searched the
house but found nothing out of order, beyond the broken latch on the back door. He had no way of knowing if anything was missing; that would have to wait until Libby and Remington returned.

The campfire had burned low and Remington was drifting off to sleep when the dogs began to howl and bay. Remington, Libby, and Sawyer were on their feet in an instant. Remington and Libby reached for their rifles in unison.

The rising moon had crested the mountains in the east, spilling a soft white light over the grazing land, but Remington couldn’t see anything except sheep and trees as he cautiously moved forward. Then, above the din of barking dogs and bleating sheep, he heard an unfamiliar sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Libby bolted past him at a dead run before he could react.

“Wait!” he shouted, but she didn’t break her stride. He took off after her, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg.

The sheep parted before them like water breaking before the bow of a ship. He saw McGregor across the meadow, running toward Libby. Another bloodcurdling cry split the night air just as Libby came to an abrupt halt. She raised her rifle and took aim. Remington’s gaze followed the direction of the weapon’s barrel.

Although he’d never seen one, he knew the animal crouched over a dead ewe was a cougar. He’d read stories about the great mountain lion of the American West.

As the dogs darted toward the cougar, it swiped with its mighty paw, barely missing them. At the same time, it let loose another scream of protest.

“Teddy, get back!” Libby shouted at the most persistent of the collies, but Teddy didn’t obey. Time and time again the dog rushed forward, and time and again he escaped the giant cat’s claws. “Teddy, get back! You’re in the way!”

Sensing Libby’s anxiety for Teddy’s safety, Remington raised his own rifle, closed one eye, and stared down the barrel. He waited until the collie darted forward and backed away again, and then he fired. His aim was sure. The mountain lion fell with a thud onto its side.

Teddy’s barking ceased as he eased forward, sniffing suspiciously. Remington understood how the dog felt. Neither of them would relax until they had confirmed the cougar was dead. When Remington reached the mountain lion, he poked it with the barrel of his rifle, then lifted the animal’s head by the scruff of its neck and let it fall back to the ground. Reassured that the danger was over, he turned around.

Libby was kneeling on the ground, hugging Teddy and another of the dogs. Her gaze fell on the sheep near Remington’s left foot. The ewe’s throat had been torn open, blood turning its fleece a bright red.

“Life is fragile.” She rose. “Sometimes I don’t think I’m strong enough for this.”

He placed his finger beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him. “You’re the strongest woman I know, Libby.” He kissed her forehead.

On the night she shot Remington Walker, Libby had thought him a hapless eastern dude. But he was a man who could fell a mountain lion with a single shot. He was a man who showed no fear, even when in danger.

Who are you, Remington?

He could be loving, passionate, stubborn, infuriating, tender. He had a wonderful laugh and a heart-stopping smile. He was a gentleman, a businessman, a man with polish and style, yet a man completely at ease as he milked a cow, whipped up breakfast in a crude kitchen, or helped build a chicken coop.

But who was he, really?

As she stood with him between the dead mountain lion and slain ewe, Libby considered how little either of them had talked about their pasts. She knew why she kept silent, but what were his reasons? Did he have secrets of his own?

As quickly as the doubts and questions came, she pushed them away. Remington loved her, and she loved him. God had brought them together. Nothing else mattered to her.

Twenty-One

FOUR DAYS LATER, ON THE morning of their planned return to the ranch, Sawyer asked Libby to let him stay with the sheepherders for a few weeks. Since McGregor didn’t mind, Libby gave her permission. Remington might have objected if he didn’t intend to hire a couple of hands before leaving for New York. He didn’t want Libby alone at the ranch.

Weary and dusty, Remington and Libby rode into the yard at the Blue Springs late in the day, lengthy shadows stretching before them. Remington spied Pete Fisher’s big black draft horse moments before Pete walked out of the barn, milk pail in hand.

“Glad to see you back.” Pete set the pail on the ground. Coming toward them, he removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Did you have any trouble on the trail?”

“No trouble,” Remington answered as he stepped down from the saddle. “What about here?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone broke into the house. As far as I can tell, nothin’s gone. I’d take credit for runnin’ the intruder off, but he was already leavin’ when I got here.”

“Was it Bevins?” Libby dismounted.

“No. Wasn’t nobody I knew, from what I could see. He was wearin’ a hat pulled kinda low, and he was gone soon as he saw me.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t any way I could catch him.”

Remington glanced at Libby. “You’d better check inside, see if you can tell what he was after.” As Libby walked away, he turned back to Pete. “Could it have been a drifter after something to eat?”

“Could have been, I suppose, but I haven’t seen many drifters drivin’ buggies around.”

“A buggy?” That would be an odd choice of transportation for a thief or a saddle tramp.

“Yep. A buggy.” Pete tugged on his hat brim. “I’m gonna head on back to my place. Lynette’s probably got supper on by this time.” He pointed to the pail on the ground where he’d left it. “I got the milkin’ done and fed the stock. Dogs too.”

“Thanks, Pete. We’re grateful for your help.”

“Nothin’ Libby wouldn’t have done for me if I needed it. Always been good neighbors, the Blues. Amanda was the salt of the earth, and Libby’s a lot like her. Like I said, glad to help. Just let me know if you need me again.”

“We’ll do that.”

Remington waited until the farmer mounted his big workhorse and rode away, then picked up the milk pail and carried it into the house. Libby stood in the kitchen, hands on her hips, a frown creasing her forehead.

“There’s no evidence that anyone was here. I’ve checked all the valuables. Nothing’s missing. And nothing seems to be gone from the pantry either.” She looked at Remington. “Why would someone break in and then take nothing? Pete said he was already leaving, so he wasn’t surprised or chased away before he could steal something. What could he have wanted?”

“I don’t know.” Remington placed a hand on her shoulder, his own gaze moving around the room. “But I don’t like it.”

Northrop looked down at the telegram in his hand. It was dated June 25, 1890, three days before. He’d read the message repeatedly since receiving it, each time relishing the information. Tomorrow he would be on a train bound for Idaho. Until then, he savored the sweet taste of victory.

His eyes skimmed the telegram again.

found walker and olivia stop
will await
you in weiser idaho stop send instructions
care of weiser hotel stop o’reilly

Northrop folded the telegram and returned it to his breast pocket. At dinner he would break the news to Anna. Then he would see if she dared defy him.

A chorus of crickets greeted the night as darkness enveloped the Blue Springs. Inside the house, Libby stood beside her bedroom window, staring in the direction of the bunkhouse, her arms crossed as she tried to ward off the eerie feeling that had lingered throughout the evening.

Someone had been in her room. Someone had gone through her things. She’d found no evidence, but she knew. Not simply because Pete Fisher saw him leaving, but because of an unsettling aura within the house, within her room. She couldn’t explain what she felt. She only knew it was real—and frightening.

She hated it when Remington went out to the bunkhouse for the night. She wanted to ask him to stay in Amanda’s room again. She wanted to plead with him not to leave her alone.

An uneasiness seized her heart, a dark foreboding. She remembered how this very same foreboding used to come upon her, the sense that she would soon be discovered. She remembered the urge to run, to change her identity, to conceal herself. It had been years since she’d felt it, yet it was as familiar as hunger pangs in the morning or the need to yawn when sleepy. Years ago she could run at a moment’s notice. She could find a new place to hide. But she couldn’t run any longer. She had Sawyer and the ranch to think about. She had Remington. No, whatever the danger, she wasn’t going to run again.

She closed the window and let the curtains fall into place, then turned around. For what must have been the twentieth time, she searched the room with her gaze, trying to find some clue, something out of place, but everything was as it had been when she left days ago.