WM02 - Texas Princess (26 page)

He nodded.

“Good. I brought bread and cheese and cold bacon cooked up yesterday. I’m sorry I have no eggs this morning, but I didn’t want to wake the house by cooking.” She offered him a bite of bread. “I also brought cookies. Martha always makes them when she thinks Duck is coming.” She lifted a napkin ful of cookies from the tray.

He frowned as if he had no idea what would be in the napkin.

“For dessert.” She smiled. “Though I don’t think breakfast has a dessert.” She winked.

“We can play like it does.”

Drum didn’t smile back. In fact, he acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

They were quiet as she fed him one bite at a time.

She thought of how long this day was going to be and how hard it would be to get through. But she’d make it. She was strong and she’d started with a kindness.

“Can I ask a question?” he said between bites.

“Sure,” she said, glad to have a distraction from her darker thoughts.

“What’l happen to me when I’m turned over to the marshal?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

He frowned. “Yes you do. Tel me.”

Sage fought back tears, but one escaped and drifted unchecked down her cheek. “I guess you’l be found guilty of stealing horses.”

“Then what?”

She didn’t want to think about it even though both Tobin and Teagen had explained how important it was to have laws.

“If they consider you stil a child, you might go to prison for a few years. If the jury thinks you’re old enough to be a man, you’l hang.”

Drum shrugged. “That’s what I gured.” He smiled. “How about I promise not to steal any more of your horses, wil you let me go?”

She shook her head. “Even if you promise, I couldn’t.”

She fed him another bite and decided that talking about him hanging was as sad as thinking about the funeral to come.

Sage patted the thick blanket covering Drum to almost his shoulder. “Were you warm enough last night?”

He looked confused by her question.

“I worried about you because it always seems colder when it rains.”

“Your brother tossed this over me after he walked me to the privy last night.”

Sage nodded. Tobin would have thought of that need. And, since Drum’s hands were down, Tobin hadn’t bothered to tie his arms above his head again. No wonder the boy slept soundly.

Drum chewed a bite of cheese. “I could have gotten away in the dark out there. Your brother seemed to have something else on his mind.”

She lifted the mug of milk, smiling at the boy’s arrogance. “Sure you could have.”

He lifted his hand from beneath the blanket and took the mug from her.

Sage froze.

Stil drinking, he stared at her over the rim of the cup, his dark eyes studying her every move.

She stared at his hand, wondering if she should make a run for it. She hadn’t even thought to strap on the holster and gun this morning. Suddenly, this boy she’d felt sorry for presented a real danger. She knew he was a thief, but would he go as far as murder too? It seemed a short walk from one crime to another. He could grab her and knock her out with one blow, or maybe choke her to death. His hands were thin, but she’d guess plenty strong enough.

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He handed her back the empty cup. “Thank you,” he said calmly, but his gaze never left her.

Sage lifted her chin, waiting for a chance to run or ght. Either way, she gured there was a good chance she’d die today. “You’re untied,” she said, making conversation to give herself time to think.

He looked like he had no idea if she were asking a question or stating a fact.

“Yes,” he nal y said, pul ing the blanket aside.

“Why didn’t you run?” The thought crossed her mind that maybe he wanted to hang around and kil them al rst. “You could have been off McMurray land by dawn.”

His outlaw eyes seemed to drink her in. “I wanted to say good-bye to you.”

He stood slowly and offered his hand.

As she stood beside him, she realized he was a few inches tal er than she’d thought.

Tal enough to be tried as a man.

“If I yel ,” she said, thinking aloud, “my brothers wil shoot you before you get out of the yard.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged as if his life were of little matter. “That ranger you’re burying today, was he your man?”

Sage shook her head. “He might have been one day.”

Drum backed a step away from her and Sage drew her rst breath. “I have to go. If you’l give me til dawn before you start screaming, I promise never to steal a McMurray horse again.”

Sage nodded. He wasn’t planning to kil her. He only wanted away. “I planned to try and talk my brothers into letting you go.”

“You did?” He looked surprised.

“I didn’t want you to hang.”

He reached for the cookies wrapped in a napkin. “Why?”

“Because you’re stil a boy.”

He frowned down at her. “How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen.”

“I’m almost sixteen.” He hesitated. Anger salted his words. “If you’l wait for me, Sage McMurray, I’l make you a ful woman one day.”

Sage didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Before she could answer his insult, he added, “I’l make you my woman.”

She shook her head. “I’m no one’s woman and I don’t plan to be. Now run, Drummond Roak. If you make it to the bridge before dawn, you might be able to slip across on the south side without the guards in the woods seeing you.”

He leaned suddenly toward her and Sage closed her eyes, waiting for a blow.

A moment later she felt the slight touch of his lips on her cheek. When she opened her eyes, he was gone. She wasn’t surprised she didn’t even hear his steps. He’d probably spent his life sneaking in and out of places.

Sage walked slowly back to the house, wondering what she could tel her brothers. By the time she stepped onto the porch she’d decided on the truth, or at least most of it.

Sometime during the night the boy had gotten loose from the ropes.

She smiled at his childish kiss. In a few years he’d grow up and forget al about what he’d said, but at least he’d grow up.

chapter 21

Y

Tobin watched as Libby walked out of the house,

her arm around Sage. The ache to hold her again was already in his blood, but now was not the time and there might never be a place again.

He turned his col ar up against the October wind and fol owed. The men had loaded the cofn into a wagon and saddled the horses for everyone except Travis and Rainey, then waited.

Though it had been months since Travis took a bul et in his leg, he stil preferred a wagon to a horse. Rainey and the boy cal ed Duck already waited for him on the bench. They’d al agreed that Duck was old enough to go to the funeral, but Rainey held his hand tightly. Travis’s wife had a gentleness about her that took the edges off of Travis who’d spent ten years along the border ghting outlaws before deciding to study law. A year ago they would have al agreed that Travis was the wildest brother, but now, in his starched shirt and dark coat, he seemed more and more like a lawyer and less like the tough ranger he had been before he met Rainey.

Watching Liberty comfort Sage, Tobin couldn’t help but wonder if she’d changed him in some smal way owing to the days they’d spent together. Because of her, he’d learned the touch of a woman—the nearness of Libby—and he had a feeling he’d ache for that comfort the rest of his life. She’d crossed not only into his thoughts and actions but into his heart too. He knew she would only be with him for a few more days. He knew he’d never stop missing her.

Tobin should have been thinking only of the funeral and Sage’s pain, but here he was, staring at Libby. Her midnight hair reminded him of how the glow from the replace had danced across it. His ngers twisted, ghting the desire to pul it free of her braid as he had last night. He wished he’d never taught her how to braid her hair.

How could she look so strong, so prim and proper, when only hours before she’d been in his arms soft as velvet with nothing between them? He could stil smel her scent on him, stil feel her skin on his, stil hear the echoes of her sighs in his ears.

Even in her borrowed shirt and trousers, al he could think about was the way she’d looked, pale as ivory atop the blankets. He had to admit that he’d never seen a woman ful y bare. He’d seen parts now and then in saloons—women who showed off their breasts or opened their legs to invite customers—but seeing Libby had been different.

The saloon girls had somehow made their wares seem dirty. Libby’s body was a work of art. He didn’t just want to look and touch, he wanted to worship.

Fighting down a smile, he thought of the way she’d silently begged him for more with her movements. And he’d taken the time to do it right last night. He’d left her satised.

If they had no more memories together, he’d take pride it that. What they’d shared hadn’t been sex—they’d made love. Then she’d slept in his arms. He’d stayed awake watching her. Her ngers had spread across the scar over his heart as if her slender hand could hold al the hurt of life at bay.

Frowning, Tobin realized that while he was daydreaming

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about Libby, Travis had moved forward to help her onto her horse.

He’d wanted to do that. But short of shoving his brother out of the way, he had no choice but to wait until later to touch her again. With al the family around, it wouldn’t be easy, but maybe they’d nd a few minutes to be alone. He knew it would only be a matter of days, maybe hours, before her father came to claim her. Liberty had said more than once that she planned to get back to her home in Washington as soon as possible. She always talked of going, never saw any alternative. Leaving him.

Tobin felt guilty thinking of Libby when he should be worrying about Sage. His little sister had aged in the past twenty-four hours. The girl she’d been would never return.

He helped Sage up, wishing he could take al the sorrow from his sister’s eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept at al . He wondered if she’d spent the entire night in the bunkhouse sitting with Michael’s body. Her eyes were red and her cheeks far too white.

She’d loved Michael, Tobin thought. As far as he knew, she’d never done more than kiss the ranger, yet she loved him. As Tobin fol owed the wagon to their smal cemetery he realized that what he felt for Libby wasn’t love. It was need. A basic need like animals nding their mates.

Only they weren’t mates. Neither one of them wanted to love or marry. Libby might change her mind in time, after the hurt of Samuel healed. But he never would. He’d grown up without a father and sworn since he was six that he’d never do that to a child.

The only way he could keep his promise was to never marry and have children.

Luckily, Libby was also in need, but not in love. She needed someone to comfort and protect her. What had she said when she’d stepped into the study? I want you. I need you. But nothing about love. He wondered how many times she’d told the captain that she loved him. Maybe she gured she’d used the word enough for a while.

Which was ne with him. The last thing he wanted was a woman fal ing in love with him. He’d been honest with her from the rst, making it plain that he wanted no attachments. She’d said love was for fools and she’d been right. Why couldn’t two people who were attracted to each other share a few hours of pleasure without getting al wrapped up in il usions of love?

Libby needed him to protect her and if she needed him physical y as wel , then that was al right with him. When it came time for her to return to her father, they’d both shake hands and say good-bye like two adults.

He ignored the nagging feeling that he was ful of bul and resolved to stop thinking about Libby. He had more important things to worry over.

Dawn cleared the horizon as they reached the tiny cemetery backed by ancient wil ows. Here Tobin often thought of his parents watching over them al .

The two carpenters had dug a grave the day before and covered the spot with a tarp so the rain wouldn’t l the hole. Tobin helped Travis carry the ranger’s cofn noticing the men had taken the time to carve a circle star on the box.

Sage cried softly as they lowered it into the grave. Teagen read from his father’s Bible about there being a time to live and a time to die. Then the McMurray men raised their guns and red three shots as they’d done when they buried their mother. Although they couldn’t have said why, it had seemed a tting ending to a funeral; they’d done it as children and somehow it gave a proper salute to the ranger.

As they l ed in the grave, Libby and Duck gathered wildowers. They would be gone in another month, but today they stil bloomed in the shelter of the trees. Rainey sat on the grass with Sage. They talked of Michael for a while; then slowly, careful y, Rainey turned the conversation to the view of the ranch. She asked questions Tobin guessed she already knew the answers to, but it gave Sage a chance to calm down.

The sun had grown warm by the time Sage climbed on her horse and rode away from them al .

“Where’s she going?” Libby asked, returning with a handful of owers.

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Travis stopped shoveling to answer her. “When troubles get the better of her, she rides. Don’t worry, she’l cross from the bridge to the mountain, but she’l not go off McMurray land.”

Libby did not look comfortable with the answer, but she didn’t say more.

Once they loaded the shovels, everyone left except Tobin and Libby. She lingered, arranging fal leaves and owers over the mound of dirt. Tobin stayed watching her.

She looked up and seemed surprised everyone had gone. Tobin offered his hand and they walked back to their horses.

His hands went around her waist to help her onto her horse, but instead of lifting her, he let his hands rest there. “Libby,” he whispered, loving the feel of her. “You were beautiful last night. The memory of you drowns out al other thought.”

She didn’t look up at him. He buried his face against her hair and breathed deeply of the scent that could only belong to Libby.

Kissing her forehead, he wished he could read her mind. He couldn’t tel if she was embarrassed, or if she regretted what had happened in the study, or if daylight made her shy.