by Joyce Armor
Libby had smiled sadly as Carmen helped her out of the bath and wrapped a large towel around her. Then she helped the injured young woman into a cotton embroidered nightgown and led her to the bed. Fluffing up her pillows so she could sit up, Carmen insisted she drink a cup of tea, then sat with her until she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Now, finally, Doc Watkins came down the stairs, carrying his weathered black bag.
“How is she, Doc?” Garrett asked, forcing himself not to grab the man by his lapels.
“She’s taken quite a beating, but nothing’s broken. No concussion. I stitched up the cut on her cheek and one on her knee and treated the bruises. What she needs now is plenty of rest and care. Try to keep her spirits up. She’s rather down right now.”
That about tore Garrett’s heart out. Libby was always so cheerful, and it killed him to realize how wounded in spirit she was. He vowed to himself he would do everything he could to bring her back to her old self.
“And maybe you could find a way to keep her from being knocked unconscious. That’s not good for a body.”
No wonder she won’t stay, Garrett had the uncomfortable thought. She’d been nothing but battered since she arrived.
“What do I owe you, Doc?” Jackson shook the doctor’s hand.
“I’ll send you a bill,” the physician said wearily. “Or we can just keep adding it up until you owe me a side of beef. You folks are my best customers,” he smiled. “I’ll be back to check on her in a couple of days. She should stay in bed until then. If her wounds fester earlier or any other problem arises before then, send for me.”
Jackson put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”
They headed out, and Carmen watched Garrett looking up the stairs. “What are you waiting for?”
Garrett hesitated. “I don’t know what to say to lift her spirits.”
“I do not think you need to say anything. Just be there. And listen.”
Garrett looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, nodded and headed up the stairs with leaden feet. He wasn’t used to feeling so helpless. And, if he was completely honest with himself, so afraid. What was it about Libby that touched him so? Right now she needed him. He could go back to keeping his distance, protecting his heart from her, when she was completely recovered, back to the Libby he knew and l…Whoa! He stopped that thought right in its tracks.
When he got to his old bedroom and gingerly opened the door, he was relieved to see that Libby was asleep. He quietly approached the bed and gazed down at her. She looked so fragile lying there under the hand-stitched quilt Carmen’s mother had fashioned. The right side of her face was bruised and puffy, and the left side included abrasions and a row of stitches. He also could see bruises and scratches on her left arm, which was above the covers. He suspected he would find them all over her body if he looked under those covers.
And didn’t just the thought of looking under the covers cause a stirring in his trousers? What in God’s name was wrong with him? He had always thought of himself as a healthy young man with a healthy man’s appetites, but never a lustful man. It seemed Libby brought out the worst in him. Although he would take care of her and provide for her until she left and probably even provide for her after that, he had to find a way to limit his physical contact with her and keep that protection around his heart before she did more damage than he could recover from. She didn’t belong here. She would just keep getting hurt and eventually somebody or something would kill her. Either that or she’d miss the city lights too much. Maybe she would be stubborn enough to stay, but it would change her. No, she would leave on her own or he would find a way to make her leave.
He sat down in the chair they had moved from the dressing table for the doctor and watched her sleep, watched her breathe in and out, in and out. She was a much smaller woman than she seemed. It was her spark, her life’s essence that made her seemed bigger, he surmised. After all she’d been through, Garrett decided even her stubbornness wouldn’t hold her here. She probably would be leaving sooner rather than later. He understood. A person could only take so much. Even he could only take so much.
He had sat there ruminating for over an hour, going back and forth on if and when she would leave, when she stirred and moaned. He leaned over and gently patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, Libby. You’re home at the ranch. You’re safe.”
She opened her eyes but couldn’t seem to focus. She closed them for a minute or so, and he thought she had gone back to sleep. Then she opened them again, with better results. After a few moments, she slowly turned to Garrett.
“I…I was so stupid.”
“No, Libby, don’t blame yourself for what bad people do. This is a harsh country.”
“I feel like it will never end.”
“There will always be some kind of danger here. That’s life. But this particular danger will end. I’ll make sure of it. Know, though, there will always be danger out here, floods, fires, famines, outlaws, Indians, bears, snakes, gopher holes.”
She almost smiled. “Thanks for cheering me up.”
He squeezed her hand. “How do you feel?”
She tried to sit up. “Unh…Like I was in a stampede.”
He helped her, adjusting pillows behind her. “Are you hungry?”
“Could I just trouble you for some water or lemonade or something cold?” Why did her voice sound so pathetic? And so young? She hated that.
Garrett poured from a pitcher on her dressing table into a tin cup and handed it to her. It took a Herculean effort to keep her hands from shaking. Still, he saw the tremor.
“I’m proud of you, Libby.”
“Why?” Still, that weak voice.
“You never gave up. I saw you fighting that varmint off when we got to the camp.”
She handed him the cup. “I don’t feel strong now. I feel like a complete ninny.”
He smiled. “You just need to get a good long rest. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
She looked at him so plaintively and for what seemed like minutes, he had to fight to keep from filling the gap with some inane comment. Finally, she sighed.
“What do you want from this marriage, Garrett?”
What did he want? He wanted to never feel cheated or betrayed or let down by another woman. He wanted to slake his lust but never engage his heart. He wanted to keep her at a distance, never letting her pierce his protection. “I want to keep you safe,” he said. “And when we take care of these men who are causing problems…”
He hesitated, and she felt cold suddenly, like an icy chill went up her spine.
“…then I think you should go back East.”
She just looked at him with those sad eyes and he felt forced to go on.
“This is a rough country, and you’ve already been hurt several times. You don’t belong here. You should be going to teas and balls and laughing and dancing.”
He had just described her mother, hadn’t he? She fought back tears of outrage. Libby had her flaws, she knew, but she was not as shallow as Elinora. That hurt.
He saw the look of disappointment before she covered it with a look he couldn’t identify. Pity? Sadness? Despair? Confusion? It wasn’t contempt, was it? “I want you to be safe, too,” she said. “I’m so tired,” she said then. She would not meet his eyes. Why should that bother him? He was getting what he wanted, wasn’t he?
He knew he had failed her, but he could not give her what he didn’t have, could he? They would both be better off if she folded her tent and went back to St. Louis. After he and Jackson had taken care of her stepfather and fake fiancé, that is.
He moved the pillows propping her up so she could recline. “You sleep, Libby. Someone will be here when you wake up.”
“You?”
“Or Carmen or Jackson. I’ll stay with you now.”
“Thank you.”
She turned her back to him and settled under the covers. He felt uncomfortable, let down. Was he disappointed in
her or himself? She really was blameless in all this. He should have protected her better. As he watched her fall into a deep slumber, he came to a decision. He was done waiting for Edward DeJulius or her stepfather to attack her or anyone else on the ranch. He would track them down and put an end to it, even if that would hasten the time that Libby would leave. Better for her to be safe and gone than here and dead.
Chapter 14
Jackson watched as Garrett deftly tightened the cinch on his gelding’s saddle. “You can’t just shoot ‘im in cold blood, although I understand the temptation.”
“Maybe, maybe not, but I think I can hurt him and put a little more fear into him. Or a great deal of fear.”
“Here’s some vittles from Carmen.” Jackson handed him a sack filled with cold chicken, bread, fruit and pastries, which the younger man secured to his saddle. “Use the telegraph to let us know what’s happening.”
“I will if I can.” Garrett put his gloves on and mounted. Before he could ride off, Jackson grabbed the reins.
“Be careful, son. Use the brains God gave you out there. Let your anger work for you, not against you. Wouldn’t hurt to check in with the marshal in whatever towns you’re in.”
Garrett nodded and walked the horse out of the barn as Jackson trotted alongside.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll track him back to St. Louis if I have to. Take care of her.”
“You know I will.”
Garrett nodded again, kicking up dust as he rode off without looking back. He didn’t see Libby standing at her window watching him go.
It had been four days since the men had rescued her, and his young wife was on the mend. The doctor gave her leave to vacate her sickbed after two days. She had barely seen Garrett in that time. He had not come to her bed. She was sore in some places and stiff in others, but moving around, while painful, seemed to help. She wished he would just have laid down with her and held her. Her marriage was becoming less convenient as the days went by.
Early on after this latest setback, she had wallowed in weakness and self-pity, and Garrett’s rather formal attitude toward her hadn’t helped. Like her train ride across the country, though, those two days gave her time to think. When she rose on the third day and let Carmen assist her in bathing and dressing, her steely resolve had returned. She was not leaving the West or Garrett of her own volition, no matter what he said or how he tried to push her away, and she was fairly certain he wouldn’t hogtie her and throw her on a passing stagecoach. She had finally found a place she belonged. If he truly didn’t want her, she didn’t think she could stay at the ranch although she dearly wanted to. She certainly belonged in the West, however. If her husband rejected her once and for all, she wouldn’t beg him, but she’d either stay in Montana Territory or move further west. Now it was three days since he had ridden off. And it was only four days until her birthday and her financial freedom. Surely, she could survive until then.
Nellie had visited, bringing with her a bag of peach puffs from Grandma Betty’s café. Libby finally told her friend the complete story of her stepfather, Edward DeJulius and the attacks on her. She also explained her marriage of convenience.
“Hmm,” Nellie said when she had completed her explanation.
“Hmm, what?”
They were sitting on the veranda, sipping tea. Nellie set her cup down. “Oh, perhaps that this marriage of convenience seems more than that to you.”
Taken aback at Nellie’s perception, Libby feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“Just that when you mention your husband’s name, your eyes light up and also have this softness in them, like perhaps the sun rises and sets on him.”
Libby tried to dismiss her friend’s observation. How pathetic would she look if anyone knew she loved a man who did not love her? Oh my God, do I love him? I do. Lord help me. “I think you are confusing that with the look I was giving the peach puffs.”
Nellie laughed. “Face it, my friend, you’re in love with your husband. You could face a worse fate.”
Libby sighed. “Oh, all right. Yes, as irritating as he is, I am. Even though he doesn’t love me back. As sad as that is.”
Later that day, she sat at the lacquered pine table in the kitchen sipping chocolate as she eyed Carmen suspiciously. “Garrett cannot have been at the line shack for three days.”
“Oh? And why not, señora?” Carmen busied herself wiping down the counter, her colorful skirt fluttering from the breeze wafting through the open back door.
“He would have checked in by now.”
“There are many cows to brand.”
Libby took another sip of her drink. “You’re hiding something from me, Carmen.”
“What do you mean, señora?” She still hadn’t met the young woman’s eyes. She was so guilty. Libby was sure of it.
“You know what I mean. Has he left me?”
“Oh, no, cariña. How can you think that? He has gone to help you.” She put her hand to her mouth as if willing the words back inside.
Libby jumped up and approached Carmen. “To help me how? Where is he? What is he doing? Tell me.”
Carmen redoubled her wiping efforts, still refusing to look at Libby, whose eyed were boring a hole in her back.
And suddenly Libby understood. “Oh, no.”
“Everything will be fine. You will see. Garrett is a smart hombre.”
“He went after Edward DeJulius, didn’t he?”
“I…I cannot say.”
“Carmen…”
The woman’s shoulders slumped.
“He’ll be killed! Garrett is an honorable man, and Edward DeJulius will not play fair or honorably. He’ll stab him or shoot him in the back.”
“Garrett is very clever. He will be careful.”
“Yes, but he’s too good.”
Carmen just smiled at that. Libby sighed, balling her fists in frustration. She was torn between loving Garrett for so selflessly becoming her champion and wanting to shake him until his teeth rattled. She had no doubt he could handle himself on a level playing field, but Edward DeJulius would never make himself so vulnerable as to deal with Garrett honorably.
Libby returned to the table, picked up her cup and saucer and took them to the kitchen. She stood at the sink biting her lip and thinking and then suddenly strode off, a woman on a mission. She caught up with Jackson in his study.
“How could you let him go?”
Her father looked up from his ledger. “Carmen wasn’t supposed to tell you.”
“She didn’t. I guessed, and I can’t believe it took me this long.”
“Garrett is a grown man, Libby. He makes his own decisions.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t he? I am not a child.”
“You were hurt and recovering. We didn’t want you to worry.”
Libby made a rather unladylike grunt and plopped into a green upholstered chair. “Have you heard from him?”
“He tracked DeJulius to Butte and was heading to Three Forks yesterday morning.”
“Edward DeJulius is the devil.”
Jackson stood and walked around the desk to stand before his daughter. He placed his hands on hers and pulled her up and into his arms. “There is not a better tracker, shooter or man than Garrett Winslow. He would not have you living in fear or danger. That’s all there is to it.”
“I can’t lose him,” she almost whispered, and he hugged her tighter.
So this is what it’s like to be loved. What a simple gesture a heartfelt hug was, yet it brought such comfort and held such meaning. She may have been cheated out of this feeling for most of her life, yet some people never experienced it, so she felt nothing but gratitude. And suddenly she recognized the difference between Jackson’s feelings for her and Garrett’s. Jackson cherished her; she could feel it in her bones. Garrett wanted her, sometimes, it seemed, in spite of himself. And he felt honor-bound to protect her. Was there more to his feelings? Could there ever be more?
&n
bsp; * * *
At that moment, the object of her frustration and doubt was pinned down behind an outcropping of boulders while two men fired at him and a third tried to circle behind him. It was the second time he had been attacked while tracking Edward DeJulius. The man obviously knew he was coming and was throwing at him every lowlife sidewinder he could purchase.
Outside of Butte, Garrett had been bushwhacked by a lone gunman. If his horse hadn’t stumbled at just the right moment, he might have been pushing up daisies by now. As it was, he had nearly had his hair parted, and his best hat sported holes, front and back. The bushwhacker wasn’t so lucky. Garrett shot him in the side and hauled him into the sheriff in Butte. Turned out the fellow was wanted, so Garrett guessed it was worth the inconvenience. He would get $500 for his trouble. That would more than make up for his lost wages and his expenses on this trip, if Jackson decided to dock him, which he doubted.
Ping! A bullet ricocheted off a boulder and whizzed by his right ear, bringing him out of his thoughts into the present. He hunched down and fired off a round, just to keep the polecats in front of him honest, then pricked up his ears, listening behind him. He heard leaves rustle. When he heard a closer twig snap, he turned and fired. A paunchy, swarthy cowpoke yelped, dropped to his knees and collapsed on the ground. Garrett could see he was unconscious and probably headed to the hereafter. He crawled to the outlaw and relieved him of his gun. It wouldn’t do to run out of firepower. Or to be wrong about his assessment of the man’s condition. Yep, he was a goner. Garrett felt no remorse; back-shooters didn’t deserve any.
The gunfire back and forth continued sporadically for another 30 or 40 minutes. Just as Garrett thought he might have to wait until nightfall and sneak past the two jaspers, one of the bushwhackers got careless and Garrett winged him. The man was an incessant whiner, and finally his partner in crime helped him onto a horse as he continued to grouse and they rode off. Garrett waited a while to make sure it wasn’t a ruse, then looked around for the now dead cowpoke’s horse. He caught the bay in a gully several hundred yards away and used a blanket secured behind the saddle to roll up the corpse before hoisting it up and tying it across the saddle.
