WM02 - Texas Princess (15 page)

“After knowing Samuel,” she said more to herself than him, “I think I’ve reached the same conclusion. I don’t want to pass control of my life from my father to some husband. I want the freedom. Out here, the life of a woman living alone would be hard, but in Washington it would be easy.”

He looked away and for a moment they were silent. Then, he said in his low, quiet way,

“There’s Stel a. We’d better get saddled up.” He slipped his hand from hers without meeting her gaze.

Tobin stood in a smooth motion that men his height rarely show. “We’l ride until ful dark.” He offered his hand and she let him help her up. “You think you can make it without fal ing out of the saddle?”

“I can make it,” she promised.

Late that afternoon, she realized she had lied.

The third time she almost tumbled, Tobin stopped the horses and climbed down from his mount. She’d expected him to help her down so they could rest, but he pul ed her foot from the stirrup and climbed up behind her.

Without a word he took the reins with one hand and pul ed her against him with the other. His arm rested low on her waist, holding her in the saddle but avoiding her bruise.

Liberty was too tired to protest. She leaned against him and fel asleep knowing that he’d keep her safe. This quiet man she barely knew seemed part of her life now. His body, his touch, were becoming familiar to her.

There was a wildness about him, as if not al of him had been civilized or tamed, but there was goodness too, and a protective nature.

She woke when he nal y lifted her from the saddle. It was ful dark as he’d promised and they’d stopped in the shadows of the trees as before. Liberty couldn’t see her, but she heard Stel a complaining about wanting a re.

Tobin told her to take care of the horses rst.

Liberty rested her head on his shoulder, too exhausted to comment.

Tobin carried her to a grassy spot about six feet from a stream so narrow she could have stepped over it. Gently, he lowered her to the ground. “You want anything to eat?” he whispered, his cheek brushing hers as he spoke.

Liberty shook her head and watched him move away to help with the horses. It was late and the sounds of the night were al around her, but she was too tired to be frightened.

Stel a offered her a canteen and a blanket, then made her bed a few feet away.

Because no one would answer her chatter, the maid nal y stopped talking. Using her saddle for a pil ow, she wiggled beneath her blanket and fel asleep.

Liberty closed her eyes and dreamed of dancing at one of the ne Washington bal s.

Al the gentlemen were dressed in black evening clothes and her feet glided across the polished oor as if she were oating. She belonged there, she almost whispered aloud, before promising herself that when this was over she’d go back to Washington and never return to Texas. She had her mother’s trust fund. She was a woman of means even without her father’s fortune. No matter what her father said, he’d welcome her back to Washington.

Just before she drifted back to sleep, she felt Tobin spread his blanket over her; then he sat down on a rock a foot away. It was so dark she could only make out his shadow and the outline of the rie at his side.

As if he knew she watched him, he ordered, “Get some sleep.”

Liberty swal owed hard. “I have to ask. Do you think we’re safe now?”

“No,” he stated without hesitation.

She fought down a panic like she’d never known. There had been times when she’d sensed danger, but not like this. She had no doubt Buchanan’s men were riding hard and fast to come
save
her. If they picked up the trail, eventual y, no matter how hard Tobin pushed, the soldiers would overtake them. Liberty had no idea what Samuel would do with Stel a, but she had a pretty good idea Tobin would be kil ed and Samuel would do his best to make her wish she were dead. By going with Tobin, she’d ruined the captain’s plans.

Liberty hated the thought of ever seeing Samuel again, but another fear overshadowed that of her ex-ancé.

“Tobin.”

“Yes,” he answered as if not surprised she wasn’t sleeping.

“The men who tried to kil my father . . . wil they try again?”

“They might, but he’l be ready for them.”

After a few minutes of silence, she asked, “Tobin?”

“Yes,” he said, a hint of laughter in his voice as if he’d made a bet with himself that she’d have more questions.

“Do you think they’l come after me also?” Part of her reasoned they wouldn’t. After al , she had nothing to do with politics.

“They might,” Tobin answered. “If for no other reason than to hurt your father.”

She studied Tobin’s tal frame. He was a strong man, but he was one against an army of men. One man between her and Samuel. One man between her and assassins.

“Tobin?”

“Libby?” he whispered back as if he liked saying her name.

“If you promise to tel me when we are safe, I’l not ask again.”

“I promise,” he answered. “Now get some sleep.”

She dreamed again of dancing in Washington at a ne bal .

Just before dawn, she rol ed stify to her side and came ful awake with the pain.

Careful y, she sat up and opened her eyes. The air was cold. The rst violet of dawn washed over the horizon. Stel a’s blanket was folded over her saddle, but Liberty didn’t see her or hear her. Tobin was also nowhere in sight.

Liberty took a deep breath, feeling the air push into her lungs as she touched her side.

She smiled. She felt better. The bruise across her ribs was stil tender, but it no longer hurt to breathe. Her eye also seemed less puffy, and the cut on her lip had scabbed to a thin rough line.

Slipping from her blanket, she fol owed the stream until she found a place surrounded by trees. Kneeling, she cupped her hands and took a drink. The cold water tasted better than any wine she’d ever had. She drank her l , then lay her cold hand over the side of her face, thankful that she couldn’t see the bruise there.

Slowly, nding comfort in the simple ritual, she washed her face with her satin handkerchief. She found a smal comb in her coat pocket she must have used to pul her hair back the last time she’d worn the wool jacket. Sitting back on the grass beside the stream, she untied her braid and began combing out her hair.

The rst light of morning sliced through the trees making the stream sparkle. She smiled remembering something an old nanny had told her when she was smal . The woman had said that in the time between rst light and when the sun appears, there is magic. The nanny had sworn it was the wishing time.

Liberty closed her eyes and could almost feel herself dancing on a polished oor with crystal chandeliers above her. If she could have one wish, it would be to be back were she belonged.

“You al right?” Tobin’s sudden question shattered her dream as if the chandelier had tumbled. “You looked stiff when you crawled out of your bedrol .”

Liberty noticed him standing on the other side of the stream watching her. “I’m ne,”

she answered, a little more sharply than she’d intended.

“Good, we leave in ten minutes.” He turned to leave.

“Tobin?” She stopped him with one word.

“Yes?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered, without looking at her.

“Then what is it?” She knew he was worried, but it was more than that. Maybe he was mad about having to take her to safety. Maybe he resented al the trouble she’d caused him. Maybe he was stil angry about the kiss on the porch, which seemed like it had happened a lifetime ago.

She had no idea, but she planned to nd out. He’d treated her with kindness when he touched her, but his words were crisp and to the point.

“Nothing,” he nal y answered, but he didn’t look at her. “I’ve got a job to do. A promise to keep. I need to remember that above al else.”

Liberty stood and tucked her comb back into her pocket. “And I’m the job.”

He slapped his gloves against his hand. “And you’re the job. I’l get you to the ranch and keep you safe until your father can come take you back to the world where you belong. I feel like I’ve got ne china out here in the wilderness.”

He couldn’t have made it any plainer.

“Great,” she said as she unbuttoned her blouse. “If it’s nothing personal, would you mind rewrapping my ribs? The strips seem to have loosened.”

He stepped over the thin stream and looked down at her. “Wouldn’t Stel a be better at this?”

“I don’t know where she is.” Liberty tugged her camisole up. “Plus, you already know how.” She raised her chin. “We wouldn’t want ne china getting broken.”

“Al right.” He knelt as she straightened on her knees.

Every part of her body took the nearness of him like a caressing blow. Part comfort, part pain.

His ngers fumbled with the knot on the bandage; then he seemed to be trying not to touch her as he unwrapped the strips.

For a moment he leaned back staring at her bruise. When she shivered, he remembered his duty and began rewrapping her ribs. Final y, his hands were gentle and caring, caressing her esh as he worked.

There it was again, she thought. A touch that was almost an embrace, from a man who frowned as if he didn’t like anything about her.

“Too tight?” he whispered, holding her steady with one hand as he wrapped.

She shook her head afraid that if she opened her mouth she might cry out.

His hands moved around her, brushing the strip of cloth smooth across her ribs. The last few circles he made were high on her ribs. The side of his nger slid slowly just beneath her breasts.

When she sucked in air, he paused. “Am I hurting you, Libby?”

“No, it feels good.”

Tying off the end, he whispered so close she could feel his words on her cheek. “That should feel better.”

“Thank you,” she answered when he looked up. Nothing in his stare told her that she was only a job to him. She guessed she was more to him then she should be and probably far more than he wanted her to be.

He stood, then offered his hand.

When she got to her feet, he didn’t turn her hand loose for a moment. Then suddenly, with an embarrassed look, he let go of her ngers. “I’l get the horses.”

He looked back, his gaze on her open blouse.

She glanced down. Her breasts were clearly outlined beneath the camisole. The nipples peaked in the cool air. Liberty raised her chin, daring him to say anything.

For a moment he just stared, then turned away. She heard him taking a few deep breaths before he managed to ask, “Have any idea where your maid is?”

Libby smiled as if she’d won some kind of victory. “You didn’t see her get up?”

“I walked over to check the horses. When I came back she was gone. That was half an hour ago.”

Liberty could l in the blanks. Stel a might be missing, but Tobin wouldn’t leave her to go look for the maid. She had no doubt he’d been watching her since she rst awoke.

“I’l be right there,” Liberty nal y said. “If she’s not back, we’l look for her together.”

She took another drink and walked slowly back to the horses. Tobin was saddling up.

By the time he had al three horses ready, they heard Stel a tromping through the underbrush, mumbling to herself.

Tobin nor Liberty asked, but both heard al about Stel a’s adventure while trying to nd a secluded place to wash up. Halfway through the rant, Tobin moved behind Liberty and gently helped her onto her horse. When he was close to her ear, he whispered,

“Too bad she found her way back.”

Liberty tried her best to frown, but she couldn’t stop one side of her mouth from lifting.

Their gazes met and held but neither spoke. Sometimes she swore she had an entire conversation going on silently with this man.

Stel a chatted on about how she had a gift for knowing when trouble stood near. She swore she was part Gypsy and could sense things better than a hound dog could smel a fresh trail. “Trouble is riding ful out for us al ,” she voiced. “I don’t know where it’s coming from but it’s bad.”

Al day Liberty and Tobin played a game of cold politeness. He’d ask her how she felt, and she’d lie, as always, and say ne. The land stretched in rol ing hil s with no sight of settlers, so the riding was easier. Stel a asked Tobin one question after another as to exactly where in Texas they were. Most of the time he ignored her, but when he did give out any information it was directed toward Liberty, not the maid.

As the day warmed, the buttons on Stel a’s blouse began to open. By noon the top of her bosom looked like it might come out of the material at any moment. Liberty watched Tobin, but as near as she could tel , he wouldn’t have noticed if Stel a had been riding nude. When he’d made no comment by late afternoon, Liberty watched the buttons close one by one as the temperature dropped.

That night they ate in silence, too tired to even try to talk or bother to say good night to one another. About the time Liberty heard Stel a’s snoring, she began to cry. She’d felt better al day but worried more about her father. She told herself he was al right. He was always al right. Her father had been a ghter al his life and a threat on his life, even an ambush, wouldn’t slow him down. He had rangers with him. It would take an army to get to him. But none of this stopped her worry.

She thought she’d mufed the sound of her crying but knew she hadn’t when Tobin’s hand touched her shoulder. Without a word, he pul ed her up into his arms. Liberty cuddled against his warm chest and wept. She didn’t need to tel him about her fears.

He’d asked for no explanation.

As the warmth of him moved over her, her tears stopped. She looked up but could only make out the shadow of his face.

His thumb brushed gently over her face, then lightly over her bottom lip. “The cut is almost healed,” he whispered.

She rested her head against his chest. “I’m sorry I cried,” she said.

“It’s al right, Libby. Get some sleep.” His words were a gentle order as he lay her back down and pul ed her blanket close. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Then, as silently as he’d come to her, he was gone, and Liberty wondered if he’d been there at al .