by Joyce Armor
It was like walking through pudding. She didn’t even look in the mirror, afraid of what she would see. She followed the wall with her hand to steady herself and made her way out of the room and down the hall, knocking and opening doors to vacant rooms before finding one with the door ajar. She slowly entered the room and saw him. He was asleep or unconscious, under blankets and a fluffy comforter. His skin was pale, and his face sweaty, strands of hair falling across his forehead. As she approached his bedside, the handsome cowboy moved restlessly in his sleep or state of unconsciousness, and her heart thudded in distress.
Oh, Garrett. Libby sank down into the bedside chair and impulsively grabbed one of his calloused hands in her own and rubbed her thumb in a circle on his palm. It seemed to calm him down a little.
“You have to get better,” she said. “I won’t let you die.”
“He has a fever. Doc redressed the wound this morning and gave him some medicine for the infection.” Jackson walked into the room and stood by her.
“It’s all my fault,” she said, and Jackson put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I never should have come here.
“That’s not true. Tell me what happened.”
She looked at Garrett, so helpless in his current state, and back at Jackson. “We went out to a place he picked out to have a picnic. It was the most beautiful site I’ve ever seen, up on a hill overlooking a stream.”
Although that shouldn’t have surprised Jackson, it did. He knew that was Garrett’s special place. Interesting.
“We had eaten and were just about to get on the horses to come back when he suddenly threw me on the ground. I thought…well, that doesn’t matter.” Yeah, you thought he was going to ravage you. “I heard a shot and didn’t realize it, but it had hit Garrett.”
Jackson cursed under his breath.
‘We managed to get behind a big boulder, but I couldn’t get the bleeding all the way stopped on his wound. We knew we couldn’t stay there. I crawled to the horses and sent my horse off.”
“That’s how we knew to come after you.”
“It was Garrett’s idea, partly because he knew he wouldn’t be able to sit in the saddle alone, so he said we would only need one horse.” She pulled the covers up a little on Garrett and pushed a lock of his hair off his face. “I was heading back to the boulder when another shot hit the side of the rock and a chunk of it hit me. By then, Garrett was unconscious. I managed to get him onto the horse and got as far as I could before I…well, that’s really all I remember.”
“Do you know if the shooter was following you?”
“No, but he was shooting at us when we left. I had to get the horse into a gallop almost right away.”
Jackson shook his head. “You’re something else, Libby Wagoner.”
“If Garrett doesn’t make it, I’ll never forgive myself. He saved me.”
“And you saved him. Garrett is young and strong. He’ll make it. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m okay. “
“Why don’t you go down and get some lunch? I’ll sit with Garrett.”
She refused to leave Garrett’s side except to find things to tend him with. She got up slowly and went to a small table holding a ewer and basin. She found a clean cloth, dipped it in the basin and wrung it out, then slowly retraced her steps and gently placed the cloth on Garrett’s forehead, as Jackson watched.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll have Carmen send a tray up for you.”
She smiled, thanked him and returned her attention to Garrett.
If these two young people don’t love each other, I will eat my hat, thought Jackson as he turned to leave.
Garrett’s condition deteriorated before his fever finally broke three days later. Libby had barely left his side for two days until she collapsed from exhaustion and Jackson carried her back to her room. She woke up in the middle of the night and returned to Garrett’s side. She had nodded off in the bedside chair when the fever broke and he awoke with a dull ache in his shoulder, a headache and a terrible thirst.
“W-water,” he whispered and Libby jolted awake.
“You’re awake! Thank God.”
“W-water,” he said again, a little louder.
She jumped up, “Yes, yes, of course.” She hurried to grab the pitcher and fill a glass for him. Returning to the bedside, she helped him sit up and fed him the water. He drank too fast and choked.
“Slow down,” she said, and he did, finishing it.
“More?”
He shook his head slightly. She replaced the glass on the table and sat down again as he watched her.
“You…you look awful,” he said weakly.
She stiffened. “Thank you. I can always count on you to lift my spirits.”
“What happened?”
“You got shot, remember?”
He looked at her bandaged head, black circles under her eyes and stringy hair. “I know what happened to me. What the hell happened to you?”
She stood and crossed her arms over her chest as Jackson entered the room. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Libby said icily and walked out.
Jackson looked down at Garrett, shaking his head. “You must be feeling better if you’re insulting Libby again.”
“What’d I say? I just asked her what happened to her. She looks bad.”
“That could be because she was injured saving your sorry ass and then spent three days refusing to leave your side while you thrashed around insensible.”
“Oh, damn.”
“Yeah.”
Garrett struggled to a more comfortable position, wincing as the movement pulled on his shoulder. “Did you find the shooter?”
“No. We tracked him through the north woods to the road, then lost his tracks.”
“Do you think it was her stepfather?”
“Or someone he hired.”
“I guess she’s not going outside the house for the next week.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard.”
* * *
It wouldn’t have been, if Libby hadn’t been wallowing in guilt, feeling responsible for Garrett’s near death. And what if the shooter had killed the ranch hands or Jackson when they came to rescue them? She could not bear the thought of being responsible for anyone getting injured or killed because of her or of losing her father so soon after finding him. It just could not be borne. She couldn’t have explained why, but she knew in her heart that Jackson was her father. It wasn’t just the blue, blue eyes and dark hair. Lots of people had blue eyes and dark hair. It was something about him that touched her heart, a connection she couldn’t explain but could feel. And truthfully, even on the slim chance he wasn’t her father, he was just about the ideal father figure, a good and honorable man, and someone she already loved. Just like Garrett.
She had to get away from these people who had been so very kind to her before something worse happened to them. She had to be the worst housekeeper in the history of the profession, barely ever on the job, she chuckled. They would hardly miss her on that account. If she could just hide for a week or so somewhere else, the dowry would be hers and the danger over. She could come back and tell Jackson everything. Everyone would be safe, not just her. He could find a real housekeeper and maybe love her as a daughter. It was rather obvious that Garrett didn’t care much about her, but if she was honest with herself, she still cared about him. Way too much, apparently, even though she wanted to throttle him now that he was feeling better.
It was clear to her; she had to leave. But where could she go, and how would she get there? What would one of her dime-novel heroines do? Not go off half-cocked, that was for certain. She had to carefully plot her departure. She couldn’t go to Deer Lodge. That must be where Elias’s gunman was based, and probably the horrible Edward Capo DeJulius was there by now too. Then she remembered a line shack she and Garrett had seen in the distance a mile or two from the ranch. He had said nobody used it until they moved the cattle in the fall. If she could bo
rrow some food from the kitchen and walk there without leaving a trail, she could keep herself and her new family—for that’s how she thought of Garrett, Jackson, Carmen and even the ranch hands— safe.
Obviously, the men, with their cowboy code of honor that made all other men pale in comparison—even the ones in her dime novels, which seemed so tame now—would never let her go off on her own. They were too protective. Even Carmen would wrestle her to the ground if she tried to leave. She smiled at that mental image and then concentrated again on her predicament. She would have to be clever and use stealth, sneaking out in the middle of the night. Well, growing up in Elias Parminter’s home, where practically every action was some infraction or other, “stealth” was Libby’s middle name.
Oh, but they might believe she was abducted. That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all. She searched through her valise for her tablet and pencil and sat down to write Jackson a note. What could she say to the father she had only ever dreamed of having? She knew she should be angry or feel cheated about all those years she needed his devotion and protection and didn’t have either. It wasn’t his fault, though. He was such an honorable man. She did not believe he had known about his daughter.
Briefly, she tried to tell him how much all their kindness and support meant to her and that she could not bear to put them in any more danger. She promised to return when she felt the danger had passed. She couldn’t help adding that she hoped she still had her job when she returned.
That evening, Libby joined Carmen, Jackson, Dusty and Joss for dinner and tried to look and sound cheerful. Jackson seemed to buy it, but she thought Carmen looked at her as if she knew all Libby’s secrets. What was it about that woman that made her want to confess all her sins? Carmen was too perceptive. After dinner, Libby wandered into the kitchen and asked the beloved cook if she might take some food up to her room to snack on later.
“Jes, of course.” Carmen was actually delighted to see Libby’s appetite returning. She hadn’t eaten much since she and Garrett had been brought home injured. “Take as many items as you would like, and some lemonade also.”
“I don’t know what I would do without your lemonade, Carmen. It always makes me feel better.”
The cook beamed. Libby grabbed a plate and took her time placing a slice of ham, some leftover roasted potatoes and a can of pears on it. When Carmen stepped outside to toss out the dishwater and feed the dogs, Libby quickly grabbed a number of other items, including a container of stew, some roast beef, fresh green beans, more peaches, oatmeal and biscuits. She also filled a canteen hanging by the back door with fresh water, which she could supplement with water from the creek that flowed near the line shack. Then she dashed off to her room, where she left a couple bites of ham on the plate for show and placed everything else in one of her pillow cases and hid it in her wardrobe.
Not until then did she realize Carmen must have ordered a bath for her, as she noticed the copper tub steaming temptingly in the corner. Quickly, she disrobed and sank gratefully into the lavender-scented water. A hot bath, truly one of life’s joys. She didn’t know when she would get her next bath that was not in a cold creek, so she luxuriated in the experience, washing her body thoroughly after carefully removing the bandage on her forehead, and her hair twice, even falling asleep for a while until the water was almost chilly.
After drying off, Libby added a log to the fire. Even though it was summer, the evenings were often cool. She was sitting nearby, brushing through her hair to dry it when someone knocked on her door.
“Come in,” she called.
Carmen entered. “Ah, you took advantage of the bath. Bueno.”
“Thank you so much, Carmen. It was just what I needed. You are such a good person.”
Carmen signaled to a couple of cowhands, who came in and carried the tub out. She crossed the room, took the brush from Libby’s hand and began brushing the young woman’s hair.
“You have not had an easy life, I think.”
“Oh, there are many people who have had it worse than me,” Libby replied. “I’m not one to dwell on what I cannot change.”
“Your luck and your life can change, no? I see the way you look at señor Garrett.”
Libby sighed and said nothing for a moment before turning to face Carmen. “Yes, but have you seen the way señor Garrett looks at me? Like I’m some kind of pestilence. He might want to like me, but he doesn’t.”
“Are you certain of this? I do not think you see what I see.”
“As certain as I need to be. He just can’t help insulting me.”
“Garrett is another one who has traveled a difficult road. He did not learn the social…how you say…proper…
“Proprieties?”
“Jes…He may not know these, but he speaks honestly. Sometimes we do not like to hear someone else’s truth, no? For me, I would rather hear the unpleasant truth than a pretty lie.”
Libby thought about this. Ultimately, she had to agree. Garrett had told her she looked awful and, in truth, she did. She should not have taken offense.
“You’re right, Carmen, as always. I just need to unlearn those social proprieties that make it perfectly all right to lie to people’s faces and make snide comments about them behind their backs. I truly revere the West. I feel freer and more myself here than I ever have. I’ll never go back to St. Louis.”
“Bueno. This is very good.”
“And I’ll try to take Garrett’s insults in a better spirit.”
“A wise woman looks beyond a handsome face and pretty words.”
“So does a wise man.”
Carmen laughed and handed the brush back to Libby. “I am very happy you are here, Libby. You are just what our men need.”
“I hope you don’t mean housekeeping.”
“Dios mío, no,” Carmen laughed again, heading toward the door. “Sleep well, señorita. Tomorrow will be a better day.”
“You too, Carmen. Thank you for everything. It means more than I can tell you. My mother was never…it’s just that…you’re like a mother to me.”
A lone tear trickled down her face. Carmen came back and pulled Libby into a motherly hug. Libby hugged her back for all she was worth. It was as if all those years of Elinor’s indifference fell away. Great. Now she felt guilty for leaving as well as for staying. If she stayed, however, Carmen and the others would be in danger, and that more than tipped the scales
When Carmen left, Libby removed her robe and climbed into bed, though she had no intention of sleeping. She could not take the chance of not waking up in the middle of the night to make her escape. She wanted to see Garrett again before she left but was afraid he would detect the deception in her eyes and raise the alarm. He needed his rest, and she needed to be gone. She would draw the danger away from the people she had come to love in so short a time. It was really about heart, she decided. For those who had a heart, like Jackson and Carmen and even Garrett—although his seemed to be walled off, she knew it was there—it was easy to love them quickly. For those who didn’t, like Elias Parminter, a lifetime wasn’t long enough to feel anything close to love. And it was easy to sacrifice for love.
Chapter 9
The household had been quiet for several hours when Libby straightened out the quilt on her bed and placed the pillows underneath to look like a sleeping body in hopes of buying some extra time before they would start looking for her. There was no doubt in her mind they would search for her. That’s the kind of caring people they were. She placed her note to Jackson on the bedside table, grabbed her valise and the pillowcase filled with food and looked around the room as if to memorize it. More than anything, she hoped she would return soon. If not, she would never forget this room, this house, these people.
She eased the door open and carefully closed it behind her. She hesitated for a moment as she passed Garrett’s bed chamber, praying he would recover fully and forgive her for his injury and suffering. More determined than ever, she crept down the staircase an
d made her way to the kitchen, where she grabbed a couple of cold pork ribs from the ice box and quietly exited through the back door. When the two ranch dogs alerted, she tossed them each a pork rib, and they lay down contentedly to enjoy the treats.
A quarter-moon provided minimal light as Libby walked to a stand of oak trees about 50 yards from the ranch house. There she found a fallen leafy branch and hurried back to the house, using the branch to wipe out her footprints in the dirt. She hadn’t read all those dime novels for nothing. Then, just to be on the safe side, she left in the opposite direction of the line shack, south of the stables, before making a wide circle and trudging toward the line shack to the north. She knew her men—when had she started thinking of them as hers?—would probably find her trail sooner or later; she just hoped it would be later. The closer it came to her birthday, the safer they would all be. Still dragging the branch behind her until she came out of the woods, she figured she should be able to reach her destination in less than two hours. Even with her circuitous route, she should get to the simple cabin well before dawn.
“Keep going, don’t give up,” she was telling herself an hour later when her strength was failing and each step weighed heavier than the one before. Only then did she realize that she had not completely recovered from her own injury. She had just crested a hill and was feeling lightheaded. She was about to stop and rest when her right knee gave way and she tumbled down the other side, clutching her valise and bag of food as she rolled over grass and rocks and dirt, finally landing in a heap at the bottom, near a little creek.
“Ow,” was all she said for several minutes as she tried to catch her breath. While her two head injuries were not her fault except for being a target, she definitely felt responsible for this pain. For certain the West was no place for sissies. Yet despite her numerous injuries, the thought as she lay there gathering her strength was that she had never felt more alive than since she had arrived in Montana Territory. Maybe one needed to face death to truly appreciate life. Or maybe overcoming challenges brought contentment. Right now she ached in places she didn’t know she had, and she needed to find a little more inner strength. Remember, you’re Lionhearted Libby.