Robin Lee Hatcher (33 page)
Authors: Loving Libby
Northrop glared as they approached. She saw his frustration in the set of his mouth, knew he controlled a blinding rage that would erupt later. Pity the person who was nearby when it happened.
Stopping a few feet away, she held out the bank draft Remington had given her upstairs. “We’ve come to give you this, Father.”
His frown deepened as he reached to take the draft.
“And to say good-bye. I’m not going to marry the viscount.” As a collective gasp arose behind her, she shifted her gaze to her shocked fiancé. “I’m sorry, Spencer. I cannot marry you when I love someone else.” Once more she looked at her father. “I won’t be sold like some product in your warehouse, and I won’t be held prisoner in my room. I’m going to walk out that door, free to do as God leads me. I’m going to marry Remington, and then I’m returning to our ranch in Idaho.”
The buzz of voices increased.
“Everything you paid to search for me is there. You can’t keep us apart, no matter what lies you tell, no matter what else you do.”
In a voice that carried across the ballroom, Remington said, “And you shouldn’t be surprised to know Mrs. Vanderhoff is coming with us when we go.”
Northrop’s face blazed red with fury. “Anna, you’ll never get a divorce as long as—”
“I’m not asking for one. I will choose God’s edicts over yours.” Anna turned toward the shocked guests. “I’m sorry, everyone, but there will be no wedding in this house today. Now, please excuse me. I must pack a few things. I’m leaving New York.” She smiled at her daughter. “I’m going to Idaho with Libby and her new husband. Believe it or not, I’m going to raise sheep instead of roses.”
July 1894
Blue Springs Ranch, Idaho
Roses were in full bloom in Anna’s garden, a kaleidoscope of color at the back of the Blue Springs Ranch house. From the kitchen window, Libby Walker watched as her mother, ever the gentlewoman, settled her skirts around her on the wooden bench. After a moment’s hesitation, Alistair McGregor sat beside her.
“Ye’ll know why I’ve come, Anna,” the Scotsman said, just loud enough for Libby to hear him.
“My love, who’re you spying on?”
She jumped at the sound of Remington’s voice. Then, with a finger to her lips, she motioned her husband to join her at the window. “McGregor’s finally going to do it.”
“Propose?”
She nodded.
Remington put an arm around Libby’s shoulders, saying softly, “This should be good.”
Libby elbowed him in the ribs.
“Anna,” McGregor continued, unaware that he had an audience other than the woman beside him, “yer husband’s been dead more than two years now, and ye cannot be ignorant of what I feel for ye. I’ve a house for ye now and enough land for ye to bury us in roses, if that would please ye. So I’ve come t’ask ye t’be my bride.”
Say yes, Mama. You love him, too. Say yes.
Before she could hear her mother’s reply, Remington drew her away from the window. “Rem—” she started to protest.
“They deserve their privacy, love. Besides, it sounds to me like our son is awake and demanding to be fed.”
Libby heard twelve-week-old Jeff’s mewling coming from the children’s bedroom. A tingle of sheer joy shot through her. God had blessed her beyond her wildest dreams. A husband who adored her and two beautiful, healthy children—Amanda Ann Walker, an adorable but headstrong three-year-old; and Jefferson O’Reilly Walker, a sweet-natured baby who rarely fussed.
It was difficult to believe more than four years had passed since Remington walked through a grove of trees under the cover of night and changed her life forever.
The front door slammed. “Ma?”
“In the kitchen,” Libby answered, keeping her voice low, hoping not to bother the lovebirds in the backyard.
I
hope you said yes
,
Mama.
Sawyer entered the room. One look at Libby and Remington and he asked, “What’s going on?” At fourteen, their adopted son was no longer a boy. Tall and lanky, his voice had changed to the deep timbre of a man, and he’d even started to shave, though he only needed to use the razor once or twice a week at most.
Remington jerked his head toward the window. “McGregor’s asked your grandmother to marry him.”
“Well, I’ll be. It’s about time.” Sawyer grabbed a cookie off the plate on the table and took a bite.
“Don’t fill up on those,” Libby scolded. “It will be suppertime before you know it.”
Jeff’s cries became more insistent, but he was drowned out by his sister’s “Mama!”
Remington kissed Libby’s cheek. “Sounds like Amanda Ann’s up from her nap.”
Thank You, Father. Thank You for all these blessings.
What mercy and grace You have showered upon me, even
when my faith was too small.
She recalled the words of a poem she’d read last night:
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.
Libby smiled at the simple truth, feeling as if the poet had written those words for her alone. Only when she’d given herself in love—to God’s love first, then to Remington’s—had she become truly free. Only when she’d risked her heart had she found the ability to soar like the angels.
“Mama!”
“I’m coming, Amanda Ann,” she called, then looked up into her husband’s eyes, saying softly, “I love you, Reming-ton. Thank you for making my heart soar.”
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