Robin Lee Hatcher (22 page)

A night breeze moved softly amid the treetops. A branch from a tall pine swept its needles back and forth against a windowpane. The house creaked, then was silent; creaked, then was silent. A log in the stove shifted and crumbled, stirring new flames, and the sound filled the kitchen like a
boom
.

Libby looked across the table at Remington, feeling that same, unshakable fear squeezing her chest. “Tomorrow?”

“The sooner I go, the sooner I get back.” He took hold of her right hand and held it between both of his.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I know. It’s just that . . .”
It’s just that I’m not ready for you to go yet.

“I’ll return as soon as I can. It shouldn’t take long for me to take care of my business affairs. A few weeks at most.”

I’m afraid, Remington. Stay with me.

Still holding her hand, he rose from his chair and came around the table, drawing Libby up to stand before him. With his free hand, he caressed the side of her face. Then he kissed her, and she tasted her own longing on his lips.

When the kiss was broken, Libby pressed her cheek against his chest. “How shall I bear it when you’re gone?”

His reply was simply to tighten his arms around her.

Again she heard tree branches brushing against a window, heard the creaking of the house, heard the sizzle of the fire in the stove. All familiar sounds, but lonely. So terribly lonely.

Stay with me
, she wanted to plead, but she knew she couldn’t. She knew he had to go. She knew she had to let him go.

“I’d better get some sleep.” He tipped her head with his index finger and planted one more kiss on her mouth. “I’ll leave at first light.”

“At first light.” Her heart ached.

Remington drew away, and she found herself staring hard at his face, memorizing the cut of his jaw, the slight cleft in his chin, the shape of his dark brows, the midnight-blue shadows in his inky black hair. She could not rid herself of the terrible fear that she would never see him again, that he would go away and not return. She wanted to remember everything about him in case memories were all she would have left.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips one more time, then turned and left the house, closing the door softly behind him.

Stay with me!

She put out the lamp burning in the center of the kitchen table, then turned and walked through the darkened house to her bedroom.

He loves you. He’ll be back. He wants to marry you.
There’s no reason to be afraid.

No, there wasn’t any reason to be afraid, yet fear latched hold of her heart and refused to let go. The feeling had not left her since she learned someone had been in her house, had gone through her things. She couldn’t
shake it, no matter how often she prayed for God to remove the fear and replace it with faith.

She opened the door and stepped inside her bedroom. A gentle breeze rippled the curtains at the window, and a sheen of moonlight lightened the shadows. As she walked across the room, she tugged her shirt free from the waist of her trousers, then freed the buttons at the neck.

He’ll come back. There’s nothing to fear. Remington’s
going to return.

She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her boots and socks.

What if he returned to Sunnyvale and found he couldn’t leave it? What if he found it was too difficult to give up his plantation and the life he’d always known?

Would he have taken me with him if I’d asked?

She closed her eyes a moment. It didn’t matter if he would have taken her. She couldn’t go. She couldn’t leave the Blue Springs.

With a sound of frustration, she reached for her nightgown, but before her fingers touched the fabric, a hand covered her mouth. She was jerked backward so suddenly that there was no chance to scream, no chance to realize what was happening before another arm gripped her around the waist, pulling her tight against a rock-hard chest.

“Evenin’, Miss Blue.”

Bevins!

“Surprised to find me here, I reckon.”

How had he gotten into her room? How had he gotten into the house unseen?

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he answered, “One o’ them new hired hand’s gonna have a lump on his head for a few days.” His fingers pressed tightly against her mouth. “And if you give me trouble, you’re gonna have the same. You hear me?”

She nodded, her heart pounding, her breathing rapid.

Bevins forced her to her knees, then with surprisingly deft movements replaced the hand over her mouth with a gag. The taste of the fabric was foul, and she tried to force it out with her tongue, making noises of objection.

“Quiet.”

He jerked her arms behind her back and tied her wrists together. The rope pinched her skin, making her eyes water. Again she protested, trying her best to scream through the gag. This time he cuffed her into silence. The blow knocked her onto her side on the floor and left her ears ringing.

Bevins leaned over her. “Don’t cause me no trouble, and maybe you won’t suffer.”

She’d underestimated him. She’d thought him a troublemaker and a thief but a coward. She hadn’t suspected . . . this.

“Walker thought he’d scare me off. He thought he could tell me to keep away from you and this ranch. Well, you’re not gonna marry him. This ranch is gonna be mine, and I’m not waitin’ any longer to get it.”

In the pale moonlight, she saw the madness in his eyes. Her blood turned to ice in her veins. He meant what he’d said. He would kill her.

“Shame this house has gotta go. I might’ve been able to use it. ’Course, it’s not as big as mine, but there’s plenty of nice things here. Too bad I can’t save ’em.”

She tried to rise, but he pushed her back onto her side with his foot.

“Fire’s gotta start where you are.” Bevins looked around. “Otherwise they might get you out in time. This room’s no good. Lover boy might see through the window.”

Fire? God, help me.

“Guess I could put you on the sofa. Have the fire start out there. Yeah, I think that’s what I better do. Start the fire where it won’t be seen so soon.”

Remington!

Twenty-Three

REMINGTON LAY ON HIS BUNK, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep. Across the room, Jimmy Collins snored softly. Remington supposed he should be thankful. Fred Miller sounded like a grizzly bear when he slept, his snores all but shaking the rafters of the bunkhouse. But Fred had the first watch tonight, and with any luck, Remington would be asleep before Fred came in to trade places with Jimmy.

Except Remington knew he wouldn’t sleep, no matter how silent the room. Whether his eyes were open or closed, he envisioned the way Libby had looked at him tonight, trying to be brave yet unable to hide her sadness, her uncertainty. He kept hearing her whisper,
“How shall I bear it
when you’re gone?”

How will
I
bear it?

He wouldn’t be away long. Only a few weeks.

How
will
I bear it?

He sat up, lowering his feet over the side of the bed; then, with elbows resting on his thighs, he cradled his head in his hands. His deceit lay like a stone on his heart.

He understood why Libby concealed her identity. He no longer considered it a lie. She
was
Libby Blue. He, on the other hand, had used his given name but lied about everything else.

“God, I’ve made a mess of things. How do I unravel it all?”

Go to Libby.
The words seemed to fill the room.
Go now.

In response, Remington shot to his feet, like a soldier obeying an order.
I’ve got to tell her the truth.
He reached for his trousers.

He didn’t know if God had spoken to him in answer to his pitiful cry for help, or if it was his own conscience talking. Whichever it was, he meant to tell Libby the truth. All of it.

He pulled on his shirt.

She wouldn’t hate him. She loved him and would forgive him once he explained everything.

Swift strides carried him across the yard to the back door. He entered the kitchen and stepped toward the table with the intention of lighting the lamp. As he reached for it, a sound stopped him. A sound so soft he shouldn’t have heard it. A sound out of place in this house, in the night.

All his senses went on alert. He eased back from the table, peering down the dark hallway toward Libby’s room, listening, waiting. Then he heard it again. A moan. A sigh. He couldn’t be certain which.

The door to Libby’s room flew open, and Remington withdrew into the kitchen. Then he heard a deep voice mutter a curse.

Bevins. Bevins was with Libby.

Remington clenched and unclenched his hands, concentrating on each sound, each shifting shadow.

“Get out there,” he heard Bevins order. “On the sofa.”

Libby lunged out of the bedroom, as if pushed. He heard her muffled protest and knew she was gagged.

He controlled his white-hot fury, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. He couldn’t afford a mistake, not with Libby’s life in the balance. Not after she’d touched his heart and changed him. Not after she’d shown him that love was more important than revenge. Not after she’d helped him find his way back to the faith his father taught him as a boy.

The shadow that was Bevins followed Libby into the living room. Remington inched his way down the hall. He needed his revolver, but he couldn’t go for it now. He didn’t even dare look for Libby’s shotgun. Surprise was his best weapon.

He paused at the corner, listening once again. Logs were being tossed onto the grate as Bevins muttered to himself. Remington eased forward to peer into the parlor.

Libby was on the sofa. Bevins crouched at the fireplace, his back to the entry. The time to act was now.

God, make my leg strong.

With that prayer, Remington hurled himself at the hunched figure.

Libby heard Bevins grunt and opened her eyes. She saw the
darkened shapes of the two men as they rolled on the floor. Bevins shouted a vile curse as the fire tongs clattered onto the hearth.

Remington!

Knuckles hit flesh. A sharp intake of breath. Another grunt.

“Libby, get out of here! Run!”

She pushed off the sofa, struggling against the rope that bound her wrists as she rushed for the doorway.

“Oomph!”

She turned at the sound, knowing it was Remington who’d made it, wondering if he was hurt. But she couldn’t help him this way. She turned again and ran down the hall into the kitchen. With her back to the door, she fumbled with the knob, trying to open it. Above the pounding of her heart, she heard something in the living room crash to the floor and shatter. More swearing, more groans.

She fumbled with the doorknob.
Please. Oh, please open.

Tears of frustration pooled in her eyes as her fingers slipped away again and again. She had to get to the bunkhouse. She had to get help for Remington.

It was useless. Her hands were bound too tightly. She couldn’t grip the knob. She couldn’t open the door.

A knife. Perhaps she could cut the rope and—

The sudden silence seemed louder than the fighting had been. She pressed her back against the door, waiting.

God, let him be all right.

She heard the strike of the match, saw a pale flicker of light at the end of the hall. The light brightened as a lamp’s wick caught flame.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

Remington, please be okay.

He stepped into view, lamp in hand.

A choked sob escaped her. She pushed away from the door, stumbling, nearly falling. And then he was there, holding her in his arms, murmuring her name as he freed her wrists and removed the foul gag from her mouth.

“You’re all right,” she whispered. “You’re all right.”

“I’m all right.” Remington cradled her face with his hands and stared into her eyes. “What about you? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No. No, he didn’t hurt me.” She touched a cut on the corner of his mouth, then brushed his hair back from his forehead. His left eye would be bruised and swollen tomorrow. She saw signs of it already. But he was all right. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

He gave her another tight hug. “You’d better sit down.”

Libby obeyed, her legs too wobbly to support her another moment.

“I’ll be right back.” Remington walked to the living room, disappearing from view.

Bevins had planned to burn down the house with her in it. He’d planned to murder her. The horror of it returned tenfold. She clutched her abdomen as the shaking spread through her, making her weak, leaving her sick.

She heard footsteps and looked up. Terror blazed in her chest at the sight of Bevins walking toward her. Then she realized Bevins’s arms were behind his back, as if tied, and that Remington was right behind him. Bevins’s face was bloodied and bruised.

“Stop,” Remington ordered when they reached the table. Then he lit a second lamp and picked it up. “Wait here, Libby. I won’t be long.”