Explaining Herself (19 page)

Now the room hung silent except for baby Garry's gurgles from Stuart and Mariah's joined arms. Victoria noticed that Collier had leaned his head onto Laurel's shoulder, to hide his face, as he held her from behind.

It was Papa who added one firm word: "But..."

"But," agreed the doctor reluctantly, "that will be a matter for physicians more experienced than myself. In the meantime, I will return daily, for at least a week, to monitor her progress. Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke, I suggest you prepare yourselves to have guests for some time."

"We're glad to," said Laurel immediately.

And as if they'd just gotten out of church, everyone started talking at once. Collier assured the doctor that he could still reach Sheridan by twilight and offered to accompany him. Stuart, after a quick discussion with Mariah, insisted that he do it
—he should get back to their ranch, and he trusted Thaddeas to bring Mariah and Garry safely home the following day. Audra hugged Papa so hard that her long, strawberry-brown braid started to come loose, and Elise wanted to know when she could see Kitty, and if Kitty got a wheelchair, could she ride in it.

'You can take turns seein' her," allowed Papa.

When Victoria noticed her father silently watching her, and met his gaze, he said, "Awful quiet, Victoria Rose."

His stern, gray eyes teased her. That, more than anything, reassured her that Kitty would get well. Victoria traded hugs with her father, and her sisters, and her brother and brothers-in-law. She gave Mariah's darling baby a happy kiss and, waiting her turn to go into the bedroom, asked questions of the others as they left.

When her turn arrived, she kissed her sister, promised to read to her, and began to think she could finally relax.

Then Kitty asked, "Is Mr. Laramie still here, Vic?"

Victoria lifted wide eyes to her father, who looked surprised but not upset. Mama said, 'You should rest for now, baby. You've had a lot of visitors."

"But you always say that thank-you's and sorties are best said right off," protested Kitty, an edge of determination in her wan voice.

Mama smoothed her hair gently back. 'You're right. We do say that. But only if you feel well enough."

"Best said right off," insisted Kitty.

So Victoria said, "I'll. . . fetch him." But she wished, more than ever, that she hadn't all but begged the man to court her. Or that he hadn't refused.

Now that she wasn't quite so worried about Kitty, she wasn't sure which part of that combination bothered her the most.

When Laramie first heard the news from the porch, he almost didn't believe it. Even after being trampled by a stallion, Kitty would survive?

Hell, if Mrs. Garrison had her way, the child might even walk again. What was it Victoria had said?
Doctors in Chicago and New York.

Must be nice,
he thought wryly
—then frowned at his own bitterness. Watching the family through the parlor windows, seeing them hold each other and weep and laugh in shared gratitude, made him feel lonely, was all.

Either that, or he was a bigger shit than even he had realized. After all, he knew some men who would be glad to have a fancy lawyer defend them on murder charges, too. Mrs. Garrison had hired a professional for him, too.

But why? Why
would a rancher's wife spend so
much money on an immigrant boy? Was it from guilt over her family's involvement? Would he ever know?

Through the window, he watched Jacob and Thad-deas Garrison exchange nods while Thaddeas hugged Victoria. Their sister was alive. Sometimes God cared after all. But his own sister was still dead. Worse yet, he'd been in Sheridan for weeks and done nothing to keep his promise to her.

Worst of all, he was no longer certain that he could.

Without a word to Dawson, Laramie swung off the porch and strode through the last dregs of sunshine to the old homestead cabin, the one Victoria said she'd helped renovate. Leaning against a tar-paper wall, he tried to imagine her chopping wood or toting water. The only way he could picture it was to see her talking at the same time, which made him want to smile. And
that
unnerved him.

Whether it should or not, something was happening, had already happened between them. Something important, which he would have to honor, though not the way she wanted.

He still couldn't court her.

But he also wondered if he had it in him to kill Victoria's brother or her father
—even if one proved to be the man he'd sworn to destroy. Whoever had betrayed Julije still deserved death, or worse. And yet, if it was a Garrison, how could he deliberately put Victoria through what he'd watched her go through today?

The sacrifice wasn't what she wanted from him.

It wasn't even close to what he wanted for her.

A sharp whistle drew his gaze to the house. Victoria stood with Nate Dawson on the porch. Dawson beckoned.

But Laramie watched Victoria as he returned, reluctant to face her anger, and surprised by her request.

"Kitty wants to see you," she said, focusing on his chest instead of meeting his eyes.

Laramie looked at Dawson, but the hand shrugged.

Laramie looked back at Victoria and nodded. Then, since she hadn't seen his nod, he said, "All right."

And he followed her upstairs.

Kitty Garrison looked fragile in the Pembrokes' big feather bed, even with her mother sitting on the bed beside her and her father standing stern guard by the window. Her bandaged face had swollen, making her lopsided. Her hurt arm hung in a gingham sling. Laramie couldn't see her bad leg, but the shape of the blankets indicated that someone had propped up the covers to keep their weight off of it.

He hesitated in the doorway, feeling guilty that he could resent anything, no matter how briefly, about such a child's recovery. Then Mrs. Garrison beckoned him nearer, so he came to the bedside.

"Miss," he said, confused. "I hope you feel better."

The words sounded foolish to his own ears. She had to be feeling like hell.

The little girl looked up at him with eyes pinched either from pain or poor vision. Likely both. "Thank you, Mr. Laramie, for saving me from the stallion. I'm sorry I made you do that."

He blinked, unsure he'd heard correctly. 'You're .. . ?"

She looked down at her covers now, her good hand fidgeting with the sheet. "If I hadn't gone where I wasn't supposed to, you wouldn't have had to
do
that," she explained with warbling solemnity. "I feel just awful that I got him killed."

Behind him, Victoria protested, "Oh Kitty, no!" Laramie felt her nearness
—even if she wasn't there to be near
him.

"I
did,"
insisted the child, her voice climbing in pitch. When she tippe
d her head back to stare at Lar
amie again, he recognized the pain and guilt in her blue eyes.

From a mirror, long ago.

He'd gotten good at hiding those feelings, but if anybody could still see them, it was him.

"At least, I helped," she added tearfully, actually grieving for the horse that had tried to kill her. "And because of me, you had t-to shoot him. And that must feel just awful. So I'm s
—
sorry."

Then she began to cry too hard to continue, despite her mother's steadying hand on her thin shoulder.

Laramie carefully sank to a crouch beside the bed so he could look at her straight on, his heart pounding. "That's not how it is," he told her evenly. "That horse was bad."

She shook her bandaged head. "Nooo!"

"Maybe he wasn't born bad," he insisted, unsure where all these words were coming from
—maybe Victoria, standing so near that her skirts brushed his hip, had a lingering influence. He didn't question it. He just talked. "Maybe if his world hadn't changed, he would have been fine. But things do change. He couldn't have his world anymore. There was a bounty on his head. He had to be captured or killed, and the Pembrokes—they figured capturing him was the kinder thing. But there he was in that corral, his mares sold away from him, and I don't guess he wanted to live that way. Critters that get trapped, they turn mean. They hurt so bad inside that they don't know anything else but to hurt other critters. And whether they intend it or not, that makes them bad. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her pinched gaze now locked onto his.

Laramie didn't look away either, mainly because he was afraid to see what anybody else in the room thought of his speech. That had to be more words than he would sometimes string together in a month.

"So ..." The way Kitty bit her lip looked familiar to him now. "So you think maybe he didn't mean to hurt me?"

"I guess maybe he didn't want to live in that corral anymore, and you gave him a way out." He hesitated. "Maybe it was a kindness."

Kitty reached out her good hand then and laid it on his own. His left hand. His gun hand.

"I'm still sorry I made you and Collier help," she whispered. "I'm sorry you hurt now, too."

Laramie stared at the contrast of their hands, and all he could manage was a nod.

"And that," interrupted Mrs. Garrison firmly, "is enough for now. It's time for your pain medicine, Kitty."

The little girl nodded. "My heart doesn't hurt so bad anyway," she announced unevenly, patting Lara-mie's hand once with her own before he managed to draw away.

And he did draw away. When he stood, it was so quickly that he almost stumbled.

He had to get out of here.

Mrs. Garrison looked up at him, a strange calm in her searching eyes. "Thank you for that, Mr. Laramie."

He had to get out of here
now.

Somehow he managed not to bump into Victoria as he spun to leave. He shouldn't be in this house, this room. He shouldn't be talking like this to a little girl, and he damned well shouldn't be thanked for it!

"Good night," called Kitty, but he didn't slow to return the wish. He wasn't sure why he felt so panicked
—so
trapped
—but he did, and instincts were instincts.

As he descended the stairs, he could see Garrisons sitting in the parlor and Garrisons on the front porch
—but he knew the escape routes. He cut out the back way, through the kitchen, instead. Only on the
stoop, noting that the sun had finally set, did he slow his steps, let his head fall back. This long day had nothing to do with him. He shouldn't have let it. This was the Garrisons' world, not his, and Kitty's guilt over the death of a wild stallion didn't
—

Damn it, it
did
matter. It shouldn't, but it did.

Then, just to add to his evening's confusion, he heard the screen door behind him open, then shut. Maybe he smelled her. Maybe he sensed her. Maybe, after sneaking through the underbrush with her, he knew the sound of her petticoats. No matter how, he recognized Victoria without turning around, before she even started talking.

And she did start talking.

"I
wasn't
mistaken!" insisted Victoria, circling Ross
Laramie
to see his face. 'You
are
a nice man."

Nobody could say those things to Kitty, the way he had, if he weren't deeply decent.

"Don't count on it," he warned, his expression blank.

"I'm not counting on anything, I'm just..."
Following my instincts. Justifying my earlier behavior.
"I'm trying to understand you."

"Don't."

She folded her arms. "I try to understand everything, Ross Laramie. You're not likely to be an exception. Still, I... I shouldn't have said what I did earlier. I didn't mean to herd you anywhere you didn't mean to go. I just thought I should be, well, clear on what I expected." She felt herself blush. "Or what I
should
expect, anyhow."

He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry for getting angry over it," she added.

He shrugged one shoulder, as if to say he didn't care. The tension in his back said differently.

"I was upset at myself, too," she continued doggedly.

"For thinking I'd misread you. And then you were so nice to Kitty, upstairs, and I knew I hadn't misread you at all. You
are
a nice man. So something else must be going on, and I didn't give you a chance to explain, and I'm sorry for that. Everything
—" For a moment she almost lost her train of thought, under remembrances of him holding her, kissing her, whispering in her ear.
Everything,
for sure. "Everything else aside, you've become a friend, and I want to help."

He said nothing, so she put a hand on his tight, taut arm. "I want to help with whatever's got you trapped."

"Like Kitty helped the stallion?" he demanded.

His anger confused her more than his words. "What?"

"She heard us talk about putting it down, so she tried to set it free.
That's
why she was in the corral.
Helping."