WM02 - Texas Princess (8 page)

“Maybe she was motivated.” He remembered how she’d stiffened when he’d mentioned that she would be Mrs. Buchanan soon.

“Or maybe she’s learning to fol ow orders,” the captain said more to himself than Tobin.

“We have little time left. Some of the guests are already moving to the hotels in town so they’l be ready for our Saturday morning wedding.”

Tobin didn’t comment. If the captain took the time to look in Liberty’s eyes, he’d know that she was neither a coward nor learning to fol ow orders. He’d also realize that she had none of the signs of a bride counting down the hours.

“The point is, she’s learning to ride.” The captain straightened. “I’ve other matters to think about. See that the lessons continue.”

Realizing he’d been dismissed, Tobin grabbed the reins and walked Sunny back to the barn.

At the barn door, he turned to watch the captain and several of his men mount up and ride away as if they had important matters to attend to. The soldiers were camped in smal tents a few hundred yards from the house. Judging from the tents, Tobin would guess about a dozen men traveled with the captain. They must be the chosen few, the best, for a captain on a frontier assignment would have many more under his command.

Dermot strol ed out of the barn and leaned on the pitchfork he carried. For a few minutes he stood beside Tobin and watched. Final y, the older man said, “I don’t much like that fel ow. Never bothers to cool down his own horse.”

“He’s busy,” Tobin murmurred, but remembered how he’d heard his father say once that a man too busy to care for his horse should try walking.

“More so every day.” Dermot shook his head. “The sena-tor’s always had to deal with hotheads yel ing and cal ing him out, but lately, with the trouble with Mexico, it’s a mountain of trouble I fear coming. Our Captain Buchanan there takes his job of guard seriously. If something happened to the senator he’d be losing not only a father-in-law, but a career.”

After today, their troubles weren’t his. One or two more riding lessons and Liberty would know enough to stay in the saddle. The senator had only asked him to stay a day. Dermot might feel trouble storming in, but the senator expected it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made Tobin promise to get Liberty to safety if it came.

Tobin unsaddled Sunny, then picked up the reins to his bay. “I think I’l ride into town,”

he said. “I’l be back in a few hours.”

The old man waved him away.

Tobin didn’t take a deep breath until the house and barn were out of sight. He needed to ride, just ride. It seemed the only time he could think.

He pushed his powerful mount until he saw the dust of what had to be the captain and his men. Tobin pul ed back. The last thing he wanted was another conversation with Buchanan. Especial y if what he suspected about the man was true.

Turning off the road, Tobin stayed close to the trees, needing to feel nature around him.

Halfway between the ranch and town, he noticed a camp-re’s smoke drifting up from wel into the woods. Tobin walked his horse toward it. By the time he was close enough to see a campsite, he’d blended even his shadow into the brush and wrapped the bridle so that his horse didn’t make a sound. He guessed he was stil on Mayeld land, and it looked as if the senator had uninvited guests.

Tobin would have assumed any camp this close to town was simply travelers, but the senator’s fear of trouble coming today made Tobin check. From the road Buchanan and his men wouldn’t have spotted the smoke. Whoever camped either was harmless or they thought they were far enough off any path to be noticed.

The men around a dying re were rough with the markings of a band of Gypsies. But something didn’t sit right with Tobin. He’d seen Gypsies before, even al owed some of them to camp next to the bridge on McMurray land. But these men were different.

He noticed the horses rst. Not old broken-down wagon horses, but fast mounts with good lines. Except for a pot of coffee near the re, there were no signs that the band had cooked or kil ed their meat. Gypsies lived off the land as they moved around. The campsite was far too organized to have been new. What kind of men build a camp and then don’t use it?

There were no women about, or any signs of them. Gypsies always traveled in families.

The last thing Tobin noticed were the ries stacked military-style. These men would not welcome a stranger. Tobin knew better than to walk into their camp alone. Whatever they were doing, they had chosen a site far from the road. They wanted no visitors.

He marked the way to their camp with an old Indian sign his grandfather taught him as he backtracked to the road. No traveler would notice the marking, but Tobin could nd it easily when he returned.

He kicked his horse, and rode toward town. A few minutes later he took the window seat at the boardinghouse café and watched people moving about a town just coming to life with business for the day.

He’d almost nished his second breakfast of the morning when he noticed the captain riding in. Tobin wondered how he could have arrived ahead of Buchanan when they traveled the same road. Obviously Buchanan had stopped. Somewhere along the way.

Somewhere off the road.

Tobin relaxed and nished his meal. Buchanan must have been checking out the strangers as wel . Maybe they were some of his troops, out of uniform so they could guard the perimeter of the ranch.

Watching the captain, Tobin crossed the street to the mercantile. Buchanan seemed nervous, strung tighter than drying rawhide. He not only had to guard one of the most powerful men in Texas, but the captain had to do it during a public wedding—his own.

After buying a fresh shirt and a foot of ribbon, Tobin headed back to the ranch. One day, he thought. One day and he’d be out of this place and on his way home. He’d heard Stel a say that everyone in the wedding party would be moving to the hotels in town tonight. After that he could forget the second promise he’d made the senator.

Both the senator and Liberty would be surrounded by every Texas Ranger, marshal, and sheriff in the area.

Tobin could go back to Whispering Mountain and forget about them al .

chapter 7

Y

liberty smiled all the way back to the house.

She’d done it—or at least she’d begun. Somehow she’d managed to climb on a horse and stay there long enough to learn something. Tobin McMurray had been bossy most of the time, but his touch had reassured her again and again. It was almost as if they were communicating on two levels at the same time. There was such caring in his touch and such formality in his speech. She sensed that talking was harder for him than the contact. Growing up in politics, it was unusual to meet a man who preferred silence to talk.

She couldn’t make up her mind if she liked the man or not. Half their conversations seemed to be arguments. But when he communicated silently with a brush of his arm, or a touch on her shoulder, she sensed no anger. No hostility.

“Miss?” Joy greeted Liberty at the door and fel into step. “Wil you be wanting a bath?”

“Yes,” Liberty said, “and lunch in my room.” For the rst time in days she was truly hungry. “Then I’l need an hour’s rest before my next lesson.”

Joy, as always, hurried to take care of Liberty’s needs.

“Captain Buchanan said you would, so I’ve already got the tub ready.”

Liberty slowed on the stairs. She resented his comment to her maid but did not bother to point it out. Joy, she knew, idolized the captain and thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

“Is my father here?” Liberty asked.

“He’s in a meeting,” Joy said as she opened the door to Liberty’s room. “And we al know what that means.”

“He’s not to be disturbed.”

“Right,” Joy agreed. “Captain told me this morning that the senator had a mountain of troubles to deal with today.”

Liberty’s shoulders drooped slightly. She understood. No one had better bother the senator unless the house was on re.

“I’l catch him later,” Liberty said as she pul ed off her clothes and slipped into a soft robe.

“What did you do to your hair?” Joy asked.

“I braided it.” Liberty didn’t want to tel Joy that a man had done the task.

The maid shook her head. “I’l comb it out for you.”

“Al right, but then braid it back.”

Joy raised an eyebrow but fol owed orders without comment.

Liberty closed her eyes as the maid twisted her hair back into a thick braid. She could almost imagine it was Tobin McMurray’s hands working through her hair and surprised herself by thinking how much she might enjoy that.

Despite her worries, Liberty slept soundly after she ate. The day grew cloudy and the promise of rain whipped in the air. By the time she crawled out of bed and dressed, she was late for her next riding lesson.

Tobin McMurray stood holding the reins of two horses as she ran into the barn. He raised his eyebrow in rebuff, then walked the mounts past her without saying a word.

He certainly hadn’t mel owed since this morning, she thought, as she fol owed him out.

In fact, now his mood seemed as dark as the clouds gathering on the western horizon.

Liberty stood a few feet away, her arms crossed.

Tobin messed with the horses, adjusting, checking until he nal y had to look at her.

She waited.

He grumbled, “The next time you’re late you’l saddle your own horse.”

“I’m sorry,” she raised her chin slightly. “I was unavoidably detained.” If he had any comment, she planned to remind him that he worked for her.

“We’l be lucky to make it back before the rain,” he answered, then closed the distance between them. “I got you something.” He dug into his vest pocket.

Taking the tiny paper sack, she pul ed out a thin strip of blue ribbon. “What is it?” she asked, more aware of his nearness than the ribbon.

“It’s for your hair,” he said.

“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. She had a hundred ribbons upstairs. She certainly didn’t need this stranger buying her a piece. An engaged lady should never accept a gift from a man, but a penny bit of ribbon surely didn’t count. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.

He looked embarrassed. “I just thought it would look better than the leather.”

She tied it to the end of her braid. “You’re right. It does. Shal we start the lesson?”

When she moved beside Sunny, she felt Tobin’s hands go round her waist. He lifted her up onto the horse, then brushed the calf of her leg as he shoved her boot into the stirrup.

“Aren’t you getting up behind me?” Liberty fought to keep panic from her voice.

“No,” he answered. “This time you ride alone, but I’l be close if you need me, miss.”

She started to tel him to cal her Liberty. She couldn’t even remember why she’d insisted on Miss Mayeld.

She laced the reins like he’d taught her as he tied a rope onto Sunny’s bridle and led him over to where the other horse waited.

“Mr. McMurray, I don’t think I’m ready for this. I need more time.”

He patted her leg. “Of course, you are. I’l be riding right beside you. You’l be ne.”

There was more warmth in his touch than his words.

Anger sparked along with fear. “Stop talking to me as if I were a horse you could calm and stop patting me.”

He said something under his breath and mounted his horse. “We ride north.” He glared at her. “And put your damn hat on.”

He made a sound and both animals moved.

She straightened, trying to remember everything he’d told her, but wasn’t fast enough.

He reminded her to relax, guide with her legs, loosen up on the reins.

“I guess being nice is over,” she said when he went over the rules for the third time in a tone that was less than friendly.

“I guess it is.” Tobin pul ed his hat low to shade his eyes. “Now kick it up a little. I could walk faster than you’re riding.”

They rode north into a eld without trees. After almost two hours her legs and arms ached from trying to do everything he told her. She didn’t know if she was more angry at him for bossing her or at herself for never seeming to remember al he told her.

She’d been so busy fol owing orders she’d forgotten her fear.

“Can we stop for a minute?” she asked removing her hat to wipe her forehead with her sleeve. The air seemed as thick as soup.

He stared at her awhile. She guessed he thought she must be the weakest female in the world. She’d read about men who stayed in the saddle from sunup to sundown.

She hadn’t even made it two hours.

Tobin pointed. “There’s a stream another half mile ahead. We can rest the horses there, but not for long. A storm looks like it might be moving in.”

“Good,” she said replacing her hat. “Maybe it wil cool off.” She hadn’t missed his point that it was the horses he was considering, not her. “How do you know there is a stream on our north border?”

He didn’t look her direction. “I rode in this way.”

“But there is a road to our place. You didn’t need to ride across the land.”

He shrugged. “I like riding across open land. You don’t run into many people.”

“You don’t like most people, do you, Mr. McMurray?”

“Nope.”

“And I fal into that ‘most’ category?”

Surprised he didn’t answer, she guessed what he thought of her and told herself she didn’t care. Putting up with him was just a means to an end.

After a few minutes of riding silently, he pointed toward a bare spot between cottonwoods. “There’s a place where we should be able to get to the water easy enough. When we head down toward the stream lean back, not forward, and let the horse nd his own footing.”

She did as told, adding “close eyes” to the list of directions while her mount picked his way down the bank. When she opened her eyes, the horse had stopped and stood a few feet from the water.

“Get down,” Tobin said as he swung off his horse. He held the reins for her.

“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know how.”

He moved to her side, touching her leg again. “Keep this leg in the stirrup and swing the other one high over the horse’s back.”